Chapter Text
It took a month and a half.
It took 44 days before Steve didn't wake up to the gnawing torment inside his heart, which felt like it was trying to claw through his chest and devour him whole.
Instead, he sat up in his bed, walked to the bathroom, and brushed his teeth while taking a piss.
44 days ago, they lost everything.
They lost everything, despite defeating Henry.
They lost because they lost them.
Murray.
Nancy.
He squeezed his eyes and washed his hands.
Eleven.
…Robin.
Instead of doubling over and weeping, like he's done almost all the other days leading up to now, he surprises himself by standing straighter and marching towards his kitchen.
Max was still asleep; it was only 6:50 after all, and she usually wakes around 7. He could prepare some breakfast beforehand for her. Actual breakfast. Not the buttered toast she normally gets.
It was a good morning for him. He can't waste it.
Back when Max was told about her mom and their trailer, she was silent. It wasn’t long after the battle that they broke it to her. She seemed to show no emotion at the information, but with everything that happened, Steve couldn’t blame her. Just pile one more awful event onto her pile.
It wasn't until Steve offered his spare room in his apartment for her to stay in. That night after she moved in was when Steve heard her, sobbing openly, her arms still too weak to lift and cover her mouth to quiet the noise, like how she used to when she was younger. She couldve been crying for a multitude of reasons, but Steve couldn't disregard the sounds of "Mom" and "I'm sorry" coming through the thin wall.
Missing your own parents' funeral. Simply for being in a "coma-but-not-exactly-coma" trance... Steve couldn't even begin to understand that sort of grief.
Steve brewed a cup of coffee for himself, actually taking the extra few seconds of adding some milk before taking a sip. He moved toward the living room, blowing on his steaming concoction, and flicked the television on.
The machine blared to life, and he cursed as he fiddled with the volume knob, setting it lower. He knew Max got to bed late, judging by the thump that woke him up in the middle of the night just a few hours before.
The news was on. Steve looked away as he flipped the channel. He couldn't take any more news about the "lost children of Hawkins."
The channels flipped to a cartoon, then to a black-and-white movie.
He let that noise fill the room, not really paying attention to what was playing. Background noise in an attempt to keep his mind from wandering.
It was peaceful. The aching in his body was present, yes, but he felt lighter than he had ever been in the past 6 weeks,
He decided on making pancakes. And hey, after looking in his fridge, he can add some bacon as well. It’ll be a nice surprise for Max. Not to mention he had to work today, so his making a nice breakfast makes up for her having to stay by herself in the apartment, again. At least, that’s how Steve sees it.
Following the box mix instructions, Steve added the milk and eggs with ease- only having to scoop out one white eggshell this time. He mixed thoroughly and set the stove on high.
He dug through his pantry and made a small hum of success when he grabbed the quarter-full bag of chocolate chips. It needs to be used by the end of the year, anyway, he’s cleaning. Like it’s meant to be, or something. He smiled softly as he poured the rest of the chips into the batter, mixing once more before pouring the goop onto an oily pan.
7 large pancakes stood tall on the plate as Steve admired his own work. Glancing over his shoulder at his electric clock on the mantel, he widened his eyes at the time. 7:30.
Max was usually out by then. But, he has to consider her being up later than usual. She may just be sleeping in-
Steve’s body jolted when he remembered the thump from the middle of the night, his body feeling a rush of heat in panic. Did she fall off her bed? Why didn't he check? He just assumed Max would call out for help if she fell.
He sent a quick look at the stove to check if the heat was at zero before rushing to the door to her room.
His pointer finger’s knuckle hit the door a few times before saying aloud, "Max?"
No response. His tongue felt heavy as he tried again.
"Max, hey, I made some breakfast."
Silence.
"I'm gonna open the door, okay?"
Waiting a few seconds more, he slowly opened, relieved it wasn't locked from the inside.
"Max?"
His chest cleared of its uneasiness when he saw the redhead sitting up against her bed, her new glasses on her face.
"Max, uh, breakfast is ready. I made pancakes."
But, she still didn't respond.
Steve's eyebrows furrowed walking further into the room. "Do you need help in your chair today?" he prompted, eyeing the folded up wheelchair that leaned between her dresser and her bed.
No response.
It's not uncommon for one of his friends to fall into this state. Hell, Steve has fallen victim to this suffocating ‘Panic Attacks’, as Vickie calls them.
But Steve knows panic attacks. He knows Max's panic attacks.
She isn't breathing harshly. She isn't biting her lips as she silently sobs and shakes.
She's still. Just sitting up and staring, blinking every ten or so seconds.
No, this is something else. This isn’t the first time she's done this, either; completely spacing out as she stared ahead.
"Max, hey." He gets closer, lightly brushing her forehead with his hand. "Can you hear me?"
She blinks sharper this time, shifting in her bed.
"Sorry- what?" her groggy voice speaks- the sound of it is enough to have Steve's shoulders drop as he lets out a sharp, relieved exhale.
"I was," he started, getting up and pulling out Max's chair. "Uh, trying to tell you that I made some breakfast."
He unfolded it and placed it near the bed. "You hungry?"
"Um," She nodded after a moment, looking around and blinking some more. “Yeah. Alright.”
Steve grinned and shifted the chair a bit, looking from the seat to her.
"Great. You... Do you want any...?" He motioned to the chair.
Max has been gaining strength in her arms, and she can usually get into her chair by herself now. But, some days, Steve knew she could just faintly lift one of her hands.
Max moved her arms slowly, gauging how far she could move. After one shove of herself, she groaned, shaking her head, murmuring, “No, yeah. Help me."
Steve nodded, bending over to maneuver her to her chair. He slowly lowered her to her seat, silent. He never talks when she needs help with this. Only once his feet were securely in position would he actually speak up. She kept her arms on her lap, so he took the initiative to take the handles of the chair and start pushing.
"So," he says, rolling her from her room towards the dining table. "I got bacon, pancakes, and two choices for drinks. You want milk or juice? Or, we do have water, if you wanted to be weird." He parked her next in her usual position at the table, the side facing the hallway.
"Milk's fine." She said, pulling her arms on the table top with more force than she had the day prior. Steve doesn't mention that, of course. If he noticed, then Max definitely did herself. Pouring the last of the milk into a glass, Steve grabbed two of the pancakes and three slices of bacon, dropping them on the plate.
“Bone apatite,” he said, exaggerating a bow with flourish, before going back to the kitchen to make his own plate.
"Chocolate chips?" He heard her say from the table. "Harrington, you're spoiling me."
"Hey, I'm spoiling nobody but myself," he smirked as he sat down across from her. "There’s a few more pancakes on the counter if you want any more," he took a bite, pleasantly surprised by his own creation- even if it was just box mix.
"Thanks," she glances at him with a smile, before lifting a shaking fork to her mouth, the torn edge of pancake inching closer.
He pretends to be fascinated by the colors of the tablecloth when Max misses her mouth, cursing.
She tries again- making it this time. Sighing in satisfaction and victory, she goes in for another bite.
"Were you, uhm, okay earlier, by the way?" Steve prompts, causing Max to stumble on her third bite. The bit of pancake fell off her fork and back on the plate.
"...Yeah?"
Steve's expression must have appeared unconvinced.
"What?" She defended, going back for the bite she missed. "I didn't hear you."
"I was calling you, like, right in front of you."
Her eyes darted away, back to the pancakes. "Sorry, I was just thinking. That's all."
The look in her eyes- it was obvious she wanted him to drop it. Despite Steve seeing her in that… “state” before, Max always plays it off as if nothing happened. Besides, maybe she was ‘Just thinking’. Max has a lot to think about. What is Steve to do, tell her she’s lying to him? The only proof he had was her being in her own head to realize he was speaking to her. It’s not enough to sense she’s lying about anything.
Sensing that Steve dropped it, she went back to her food. The noise of the television filled the silence against their chewing.
He could ask Vickie about it if it happens again, but he's sure he'll get told that he worries far too much. But isn't worrying too much better than not at all? He sighs, but covers it by just taking a sip from his drink. Max, thankfully, didn't catch it.
In the month they've lived together, Steve has grown strongly attached to the redhead. Seeing her awake and talking, smiling even, after almost two years... it felt like everything was whole again, back when she first got out of the van at the radio shack.
And then of course, everything went to shit. They thought they knew what they were doing, thought that Steve's plan would actually work-
Steve tried his best not think about that day too much, lest he gets caught up in himself and shuts down for the rest of the day. He can't let today fall into another one of those. He has work soon.
Many of those in the final fight against Henry stayed at the Wheelers' residence afterwards, licking their wounds and sharing their grief.
Though Steve could hardly look at Mrs. Wheeler, who had to grieve for her lost daughter. A mother's grief is something so deep- and he hoped he wasn't just known as "Nancy's Ex" to her, nor the one whose plan resulted in the death of her daughter.
But he had to stay with the Wheelers. He couldn't just drive back to his too-empty apartment. Not when everyone lost so much.
(Not that he could drive to his apartment. His car just flew out into a weirder, even more confusing form of space a few days prior. Damn.)
He overheard the moment Max was told about her mother.
It was the day after the battle, down in the Wheelers' basement, and Max had this look on her face. Like she had a question burning behind her eyes that she wanted to- but was too scared- to ask.
It was Erika who explained. Once the rift opened up, it only grew wider for the next few hours. By the time officials covered them up with the metal plates, many of the trailers in that park had fallen in. Including hers. There were missing persons posters up with the rest... But nothing turned up. Mrs. Mayfeild was added to the death count after a few weeks.
Max sat there, listening to all of this with her mouth drawn tight. He expected her to snap, to cry, to have a full tantrum about it. She had every right to. Being told you missed your mother's funeral by almost two years would do that to anybody. A part of him even expected Max to jump up and swear at them, crying that they didn't look hard enough and she would run up those stairs to go look for her on her own. But she didn't- of course she didn't. Lucas carried her down the stairs himself.
No, instead, Max nodded, blinking slowly, and murmured, "No, no, yeah. Okay." And that was that.
It took two more days of crashing at the Wheelers’ for Steve to go and offer Max his spare room in his apartment.
Max was taken aback, red hair falling off her face as she gawked at him. She countered, explaining that she couldn't afford to split the rent. Though she doesn't know that having someone stay with him would be payment enough.
He doesn't say that- no, he just tells her not to worry about that. If she wants a room to herself, he literally has no other use for it.
It took another two minutes of ensuring her it's okay, that it's even on the bottom floor, so she won't have to worry as much about her chair, for her to tentatively agree.
He saw Lucas's face and winced in sympathy. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that he was hoping for Max to stay with him and the rest of the Sinclairs. But his house has stairs, anyway. Not to mention they'd have zero privacy alone, he could bet on that.
Max had nothing to her name. Just the wheelchair she scored and the clothes that Nancy gave to her before the battle, the ones she was still sitting in.
He wasn't the only one who took notice of that, and both Mrs. Wheeler and Mrs. Byers had packed familiar clothing, all folded in cardboard boxes.
Mrs. Wheeler shakingly explained what she had for Max, knowing that if she, herself, let them sit and collect dust when another girl, a friend of Nancy, no less, needed them more, then she knew that Nancy would never forgive her.
She was sobbing over herself as she talked, and Mrs. Byers tried comforting her as she laid her own box down, sniffling. The majority of El's clothing lay inside.
Max couldn't contain herself either at the gifts. The memories of the girls in these outfits, now to be worn by her. The burden wasn’t hard- even if their style wasn't the same as Max’s, and even if some were a bit too big on her. Doing anything to keep their memories alive would be something Max evidently took great honor in, judging by how she sobbed her thankfulness, lightly holding a gray hoodie from Mrs. Byers box, her fingers trying to grip the fabric as hard as she could.
He moved his own bed to Max's new room before she moved in. He could stick with the couch until he gets another bed, but Max needed a stable bed far more than he did. Her body was still healing and growing stronger every day.
He and Joyce, as she insisted he call her, searched through some thrift stores for any furniture pieces she may need. They got a dresser for 30 bucks, it being marked down for having a large dark stain on the backside. It’s not like anyone would ever have the side with the stain not already pressed against the wall, Steve mused.
They picked up a standing mirror, a side table, and a small bookshelf as well when they were there.
For just moving in, it didn't seem that bad.
When the room was set up, with the help of Hopper pulling in the furniture, he called the Wheelers to make sure she was all packed with her new clothes. Seeing how she had nothing else but those two boxes, it was safe to say she was ready. Her friends all gave her hugs, telling her to call them anytime, whenever she needs anything- they'll be there. Max rolled her eyes, but not without a smile, promising she'll miss them too.
Hopper drove them to his apartment, not speaking, just playing music on the radio. Steve peeked at the back in the rear-view mirror. Max was still in the back, staring forward silently. The only movement was her shoulders with her breathing.
It was a lot to take in, and Steve was surprised she was even taking it that well at all. He stared forward, trying to ignore the hollow eyes of Eleven's father as he drove them to Max's new home.
The first day was... awkward. Max clearly was trying to make herself out of the way, not sure where to keep herself busy when not in her room. It would take a few days before Max felt comfortable enough to roll around as she pleased, talking to him normally, less like a "regular grown-up" and more like how she used to. Like her friend.
With it only being less than a week since she last woke up, Max needed help getting up and out of her chair. That wasn't a problem. Steve worked out to fight demogorgons. He could carry the girl up and down from her bed and her wheelchair. Max stopped being embarrassed by it after the first three times, but Steve still didn't mention it. It wasn't a big deal for him.
A week after moving in, Vickie stopped by with a small box. They skipped the pleasantries as she explained the exercises Max had to do. The faster she started, the better. Max was given a three-pound weight to start with, but it may as well have been weighed fifty.
Vickie explained how she would gain her strength back and how long and how often she needed to train.
Though it was hard for Steve to focus on that aspect when he kept spotting the tears that would boil in Vickie’s eyes when she looked at the younger girl.
The quick nose scratches she did, covering her need to wipe her eyes, were hard to miss.
Max started to gain strength just a few days into her training, which was promptly celebrated by the rest of the party coming by for a small, silly party. It may have just been an excuse to bring over five fresh boxes of pizza, but that didn’t matter. Max earned it.
Especially with how she had to get glasses after admitting her eyesight was only as good as 4 feet ahead of her. Turns out, when you bleed from your eyes, your vision doesn’t come back the same. Her nearsightedness wasn’t the main issues of the days after she first woke up, and since she could see fine in her head, she didn’t bring it up. With the threat of the world ending behind them, Max brought it up while watching some rerun on the television. Saying she can’t really see as well as before, back in her coma.
She said how she first thought it was because she was still ‘not all there’ from waking up. Then, after a few days, assumed this was how normal people saw the world, and when you’re inside the dream like memory filled state of a coma for almost 2 years, you feel and sense and see things so much more deeply. That anything after that was like being blind in comparison.
After a week, though, Max knew something was up. There’s no way she saw like this before.
Her new glasses were large, rounded ovals, a light gold look to frame her face. The day after she picked them up she wouldn’t stop grinning, looking around his apartment with new brand eyes. Sure, the cost was a bite at his savings, but it was essential. And the constant gushing of her sight being normal again he heard from her was worth every penny.
Steve could not be more grateful that he offered his house for Max to live in. It was too suffocating by himself, even before the battle. But now, with the grief of his friends...
He didn't know Eleven much; he mostly only heard about her from her friends. But he still wished she didn't have to do what she did. Words like "sacrifice" were being thrown around. Steve wasn't exactly there for that part in the battle, too busy caught up trying to protect Dustin and Mike, to notice that going on at all.
Having someone else with him in his home made it better. Someone to talk to, someone to listen to. Listening to her ramble about anything was easily better than listening to his own consuming thoughts.
He needed to pick up a new, better job, sure. His savings would only get him so far, though the casseroles Karen and Joyce sent certainly helped on dinning expenses.
Maybe all of his luck has been so shitty that his score of a job at Enzos was some sort of karmatic justice- he doesn't know anything about that stuff, but that's what Max said when he told her his interview and application were accepted. Maybe his name was spoken around how he freaking helped save Hawkins and probably the rest of the world, or maybe they thought his hair was charming. It’s a toss-up.
He works good hours, and they pay double what he made at Scoops and that Radio Shack, put together. Plus, being a server was easier than expected; the only part he could live without was couples who brought screaming babies to the classy establishment. Having to ask them to quiet their child or be asked to leave was harder than his entire job flipping buttons at the radio station.
The tips alone could practically be a second job paycheck. If he’d known how sweet this gig was before, he would’ve applied here ages ago.
Between his new job and the food handouts he gets from some of the other families, he’s slowly gaining money while still paying rent and getting groceries. He cooks more, too, which he could thank Max for as well. If she declines his offer, Steve is sure he would have gotten takeout every other night and cereal for the rest of them.
Joyce stopped by once, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. She carried a box; the crossed-out words of “Christmas lights” were over the more recent Sharpie scribbles of “Max things”.
Inside were books.
Some fantasy, but the majority were thick, old textbooks. She explained she got some from Karen as well, knowing how Max was most definitely behind on her studies. It was true, it’s almost Winter, and Max clearly has no current plans of getting back into school. Even if she did, she’d have to stay in grades below her friends.
The textbooks were both Nancy’s and Jonathan's. Steve helped her carry the box inside as she got quieter, her tight smile wavering slightly.
That was when Joyce whispered how proud she was of him for taking Max in. How she would have, but with them just losing Eleven… it may have been too hard on Hopper.
He didn’t reply to that, just nodding while looking through the books. It’ll give Max something to do besides training, at least.
He thanked her for the textbooks, asking her to pass his message to Karen as well. She hugged him, promising she would.
Steve had to wipe his eyes before knocking on Max’s door, explaining the new box.
Sometimes the others stop by. They come by for potlucks, or to look at what's good on the television, or play a new game they brought. Sometimes, they just stop by to talk. It doesn't matter to whom. They all have a lot to discuss, yet nobody likes to discuss it head-on. Talking around it until it becomes inevitable, and they bring up a friend or family member they've lost.
On Max's bad days, Steve lets her scream and cry into him on the couch. She always leaned so heavily into him as she does so, letting herself practically ragdoll on top of him as she weeps. She didn’t have the upper core strength to keep herself upright just yet, so her leaning into him, Steve assumed, was probably involuntary.
It was a new development, only started after the ‘monthaversary’ of the day she came to live with them. Some sappy Christmas special was on when she started shaking and utterly broke down.
He kept her propped upright whenever she cried like this, rubbing her back and waiting until she quieted down before asking if she needed water. She always did.
Max wouldn't talk to him after the first instance of this; her red face was impossible to decipher from the after effects of crying, versus utter embarrassment.
He doesn't pry, and she doesn't pry when she catches him sobbing into his pillow late at night. They let eachother grieve, allowing them the space to speak up for themselves, but hardly ever choosing to.
So, yes, the girl has grown strong against Steve. It's only the newest addition to Max's... coping mechanisms... that has Steve perplexed.
For the past month, Steve has stumbled upon Max being unresponsive about 3 times.
First time, she was laying down, her eyes half lidded, and she was breathing deeply, evenly. But she didn’t hear him as he talked to her. He asked a question- "What, you're ignoring me, now?" to zero response.
He only panicked for a moment before snapping his finger next to her, which had her jolt up and confused.
She didn't hear him before that, though. The loud noise of the snap awoke her, but not him calling out to her. His gut felt like it fell through the floor. The fleeting worry of "Is he back? Is he coming after her again?" infiltrated his head. But he knew Vecna was dead. Steve was there when he died.
Vickie explained to him that she could just be having some sort of PTSD flashback. Still serious, but not... Henry serious.
Steve asked Max about it. She claimed to be tired and did not hear him at first.
Steve looked at her; there was nothing out of the ordinary in her eyes. He trusts her. He knows she trusts him, as well. If there were even the smallest trace of Vecna still being alive, Max wouldn't be hiding it.
So he decided to believe her.
It happens again, this time late at night when they’re watching television. Steve noticed Max being silent, leaning back into the couch. He half mused that she had fallen asleep, but no, her eyes were open wide. Eyes watching in a haze.
“Max.”
When she didn’t respond, he tried again, louder, giving two loud claps as his chest tightened.
Max startled then too, blinking wildly and looking back at him. “Sorry- what?”
“Can you even tell what’s been happening in this?” He motioned to the screen.
“I…” she paused, murmuring, “I think I fell asleep,”
“With your eyes open?”
She shrugged, rolling her eyes. “Sorry I grossed you out or whatever.” She repositioned herself to lie down, taking over the couch
The third time was just earlier, her not responding when he stood in front of her.
She just acts like it doesn't happen. And hey, maybe she doesn't even realize it is happening. But that doesn't make it better. He’s worried about her. If there were good therapy services in Hawkins, ones they could easily afford, he wouldn’t hesitate to grab all of those who fought that day and force them into mandatory counseling- himself included.
When they both finish their breakfast, Steve cleans up while Max leans over to the side of the table, grabbing her earth biology textbook, shuffling through the pages until she gets to the page she’s been looking for. Lifting her shaking hand to fix her glasses, she glanced up at Steve. “What’s you hours like?”
“Uh, I know I start at 9.”
“You don’t know when you finish?”
“Be glad I know when I start, I just work there.”
She blinked at him.
“It’s probably till 3 or 4. Is that good enough for you?”
She looked back down at her book. “Yeah. Sure.”
He peered into what she was reading.
“Isn’t that the same section as two days ago?”
“I took a break. I switched to geography.”
“Uh huh.”
“What? I’m also going over it again. I’m memorizing. It’s called studying. Remember that?”
He tried to smile, really did, but the sudden pit of grief that hit his insides made it crack.
“Have you tried flash cards?” He questioned after he swallowed it down.
“Sometimes. In middle school, I did. I don’t have the cards here, though. And uh.” She looked at her arm, her hand. She squeezed it into a fist, releasing it. “I don't know how… good… I can even write, at the moment.”
He hummed in acknowledgement. “Use it or lose it, they say.”
She groaned, huffing. “I know, I know. Practice.” She lifted her arms to do small ‘jazz hands’, dropping them on the table.
“It’s like studying,” he noted, “ Just with your muscles.”
“I got the analogy, thanks.” She replied, eyes staring up, unimpressed.
He left her to her books, heading towards his dresser to fix himself into his uniform and to fluff and style his hair.
It’s a good morning. He won’t let that sudden stab of agony ruin him through the entirety of his shift.
Looking over himself in his bathroom mirror, Steve nodded. It was 8:10, and it took half an hour to bike to Enzos. Meaning he still had 20 minutes to cool himself off before he had to write down the names of food and table numbers.
He carefully sat down on his bed, closing his eyes, counting to a hundred. He focused his mind's eye on imaginary stars evading his vision as he pressed his hand down hard on his eyelids.
After the hundred, he went backwards. All the way down to one.
He let air out through his mouth, his cheeks blowing up before letting it out. Yeah. He’s okay. Just needed a second.
“You'd better finish that chapter before I get back,” Steve pointed as he grabbed a water bottle. “I gotta go. See you at 3. We have lasagna in the fridge. Uh. Maybe 4, actually. I don’t know.”
Max’s arms were crossed on the table as her book lay open, still going over the passages.
He opened the door, looking back at her. “Oh, yes, Max. I’ll ride home safely. Thanks! Love you too.”
He slipped through the door, making his way to the bike rack side of the complex. It’s a temporary thing, this bike. Until he can get enough money saved up for a new car, this’ll have to stick. Though taking care of himself and Max took half of the budget, as it was. It would be a while, and he didn’t feel right asking for any more help with his transportation issue. He already had so many handouts, as it were, with sudden store certificates and fresh food in Tupperware containers that he could keep, and with the old high school books that were gifted to Max…
He arrived at Enzos 5 minutes early, giving him plenty of time to lock his bike on the back bike holders and fix up his uniform that may have creased during the ride. Nodding in satisfaction, Steve entered through the employees' back entrance, ready to start his shift.
It was only after writing down his second table’s order in his section that he realized what he said before he left home.
“Love you too.”
He said it as a joke, as a bit. She ignored his farewell, focusing on her book- which, he’s glad about. She needs to get through those books if she wants a chance at catching up to her friends- so he said it in a ‘responding to what she didn’t say’, silly way.
It’s no surprise he grew so attached to her. Even before the events that led her to be hospitalized, Steve grew very protective of the girl. Hearing those four chimes made his heart shatter, back in the Upside Down, knowing they failed her.
But she was still alive, still here. Even if she was trapped inside some guy’s head for well over a year, she was now fully back.
But saying he loved her, it felt natural, like it slipped off his tongue as easily as saying her name. Despite it being just a month and a half of Max living with him, he knew that he cared more deeply about her than he had felt about most things in a long time.
Steve was an only child. His parents promised him a younger brother when he was a toddler, but nothing came of it, and he grew to accept that the Harrington lineage would be only his to continue.
So, yeah, this feeling was new to him. He felt protective as hell over the kids already, sure. Dustin gave him a heart attack any time he did something stupid in an already dangerous situation. But this was different.
Maybe it’s because he’s with Max every day now, just living with her- not when they’re fighting for their lives. Not when they have to keep their voices quiet in fear of a demo getting to them- or someone worse.
Swallowing, Steve made his way to the kitchen to drop off his orders and to grab their drinks.
He didn’t stick around to see if Max even acknowledged what slipped out of his mouth. Did she realize what he said? If that made her uncomfortable, Steve trusts her enough that she would tell him.
But, there was a part of him- a very large part- that hoped she wouldn’t. That she understood this feeling of... what? Family? Is that what it is? If he did get his little brother that was promised, would he be feeling this way towards him?
Max's own brother- her stepbrother- was a piece of work. Maybe Max didn't even want another brother after losing Billy. One was enough, and all that.
But... if she was open to it... Steve found himself smiling at the prospect. The idea of being the big brother he never officially was.
The rest of the workday was uneventful, if you don't count the family who brought 3 more people than originally stated on their reservation. A lot of angry cursing and stuck-up guests who thought they were better than the waitstaff for some unknown reason. Typical stuff you see at Enzos.
But- Turns out he got out at 2:30. Way off.
Usually, he'd be annoyed at his hours being shorter than originally thought- he really does need a new car- but today he was welcome to it. He wanted to get back to Max. Maybe they could get out of the apartment and meet up with the boys. It's been a bit since theyve gotten together, anyway.
Peddling back towards his apartment, Steve cursed under his breath at the sight of snow falling on the pavement. That made it difficult to both bike and move Max's chair. He pushed harder on the pedals. Had to get home before all the roads and pavement were covered in a sheet of ice and snow.
By the time he spotted his apartment complex in the distance, Steve had to pause and start walking. The snow covered a half inch on the sidewalk, and he didn't need to risk slipping and crashing. He should get a helmet, but what, mess up his hair? Not a chance. He's still decently sure his hair was what got him the job at Enzos. anyways.
He locked up his bike for the second time that day, basking in the warmth of the lobby. His fingers were burning with cold, and he tucked them under his armpits as he made his way to his door.
He shuffled with his keys, hissing at their freezing temperature as he fumbled them against the door.
With success, Steve pushed it open, shoving the near icicle metal back into his pockets.
"Hey, 'm back," He greeted, kicking off his almost-wet shoes. "It's coming down out there. I guess we're gonna get a white Christmas after-"
Steve paused as he looked up. Max was sitting at the table, arms crossed. Her page in her biology book was the same one as this morning.
"Max-" he felt his annoyance at her not making any progress die the second he saw her face. "Max- hey, Max!"
She looked the same as that early morning. Eyes half lidded, breathing steadily, but otherwise completely still. Did he even hear her this morning when he left? Why didn't he check on her?
"Max, wake up."
Steve waved a hand in front of her. An even breath was the reply.
When Max spaced out like this, a simple snap could bring her crack to the world of the waking. But now-
“Max!”
Steve shook her shoulders. Not too rough- just enough that her arms fell off the table and onto her lap.
Max blinked multiple times, eyes squinting behind her glasses.
“Sorry- what?” She crackly voice murmured, stretching her face out for a few seconds- blinking and licking her lips “What… what was it you were saying?”
Steve couldn’t help his stomach from churning.