Chapter Text
“Come on, Steve, it’s prom,” Nancy declared with a loud slam of her locker, perfectly timed to have Steve jumping out of his skin with a yelp.
“Sorry,” she added, not looking sorry at all when he turned to glare at her.
And fair enough, really. It wasn’t completely her fault that he was so jumpy and distracted lately. Losing your first real girlfriend and the entirety of your friend group in a single school year would do a number on anyone. Not that he was taking either loss too hard, as evidenced by the way he was, at this very moment, hanging out with said ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Nancy and Jonathan both had taken him in like a lost puppy when he’d finally wised up to the type of asshole he was becoming, to the sort of people he’d been surrounding himself with, and told Tommy and Carol to go fuck themselves.
He hadn’t realized at the time that the whole ordeal would turn him into a social pariah, but as he watched the companions of his past life bully some poor freshman down the other end of the hall, he had zero regrets.
“It’s okay man, she scares me too sometimes,” Jonathan said with a chuckle, patting Steve on the shoulder before taking hold of Nancy’s hand. The three of them fell into step together, making their way to the cafeteria.
“We’ve been over this, Nance,” Steve said through a defeated sigh. “It's bad enough having to walk around this place everyday with people whispering behind my back, why would I subject myself to that after school hours?”
“Who cares what people think, it’s not like you did anything wrong,” she replied.
“Try telling them that,” Steve muttered as they passed a gaggle of cheerleaders who gave him some serious side-eye when they went by. One of whom he was pretty sure was the girl he’d been locked in a closet with three years ago during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at Tommy’s birthday party. All they did that night was kiss, but she’d gone on to brag to her friends about things that absolutely hadn’t happened, and single-handedly launched him a new reputation with the fairer sex of Hawkins High.
Oh how the mighty had fallen.
“Okay, say I let you talk me into this absolutely terrible idea. The dance is this weekend. I’d never be able to find a date in time!”
He’d never be able to find a date again—ever.
Probably.
Okay, that might be a little dramatic even for him, but certainly while trapped behind both the real and figurative walls of high school and its deeply ingrained social structure, he was doomed to live out the rest of his senior year painfully single. The popular girls, who—let’s face it—had probably only gone out with him to boost their own standing in the Hawkins High hierarchy, considering most of them hadn’t been interested in a second date. And the other girls…
The band geeks.
The nerds.
The freaks.
The kind of girls the Steve of a year ago, or hell, the Steve of six months ago would have never looked at twice. Those girls wouldn’t give him the time of day, and who could blame them? A fallen asshole was still an asshole, as far as they knew.
He’d made his bed, and now he’d have to lie in it.
Alone.
“Who said anything about a date?” Nancy asked, glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow.
Steve snorted. “You’re kidding, right?”
He already wasn’t looking forward to his stupid prom, and the last thing he wanted was to roll up to it alone playing the pathetic third wheel. As he opened his mouth to say as much, his eyes fell again on Nancy and Jon’s entwined hands, and he instead let out a defeated sigh.
It was a little late to be worried about that.
Nancy’s face softened and her feet stopped abruptly where they stood, only steps away from entering the cafeteria for lunch. She gently grabbed his arm, tugging both him and Jonathan off to the side, away from the wide open doorway and the loud chatter beyond.
“Listen, I know this year hasn’t gone anything like you planned, but, if I’ve never said it, I’m so proud of you. I’ve never been as popular as you were, and I'm always going on about how none of that bullshit matters anyway, but even I know it couldn’t have been easy to stand up to Tommy like that.”
Steve swallowed hard past a sudden lump in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said they were proud of him.
“It was the right thing to do,” he said after a pause, shrugging like it was nothing. Like her words hadn’t made him want to sit down and cry.
“Yeah, maybe, but he was your best friend.”
Best friend.
Steve wasn’t sure Tommy had the first idea of what it meant to be someone’s friend. He might have been the one the school called king, but it was Tommy who called the shots in their circle, who demanded loyalty and threw a fit whenever someone dared to question anything he said or did.
No matter how many times Tommy had overheard Steve’s dad blowing up at him when they were kids, before his mom had filed for divorce—and full custody, the house, the BMW, the works—not once had his so-called best friend offered him a shoulder to cry on, or even asked if he was okay.
And, in hindsight, Steve was pretty fucking sure spray painting Nancy The Slut Wheeler on the marquee at the Hawk wasn’t something Tommy had done in the name of friendship. The jealousy had been clear in his former friend's eyes when they’d fought about it. Hurt and anger. Envy, for the girl who’d won Steve’s heart—or so it had seemed—and had the nerve to cheat on him with Jonathan Byers of all people.
Shameless!
In reality, Steve and Nancy had broken up privately on good terms, both realizing after the one and only time they slept together that their initial spark of infatuation had fizzled without turning into something more. Nancy had already been nursing a small crush on the broody older brother of her own younger brother’s best friend, and went after Jonathan with Steve’s blessing. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t know what he wanted. He only knew he wasn’t going to find it with Nancy.
Unfortunately, Tommy hadn’t been privy to any of this information before seeing Nancy and Jonathan kissing in her station wagon.
The rest, as they say, was history.
Nancy was embarrassed, and of course livid, thinking Steve had been in on it. That the whole thing had been some giant ruse to publicly humiliate her. And maybe they hadn’t shared some epic love connection but it still broke Steve’s heart that she could think him capable of such a thing. That anyone could.
It was a sorely needed and long overdue wake up call.
For the first time in his life, Steve stood up to Tommy without backing down, and due to toxic masculinity or repressed sexual tension, or both, their very public fight had come to blows.
Steve had to hand it to him. Though he had a few inches, and more than a few pounds of muscle on Tommy, he got his ass whooped and his face bloodied. By the next school day his reputation was in shambles. Tommy had somehow flipped the script, spinning a tale that somehow left himself as the good guy, the hero, who had only been trying to save his best friend from being hurt!
Meanwhile Steve was a pathetic, cuck, loser, and had ridden his way into popularity by Tommy and Carol’s coattails alone. Never mind that Steve had been team captain of two, count ‘em, two varsity teams and it was Tommy who had earned his place on said teams by Steve’s influence.
But, whatever.
Looking back now, Steve could see things he'd been too dense to notice. The way Tommy always needed to be touching him—an arm slung over his shoulders, a shove that lasted a beat too long, wrestling matches that went on until they were both breathing hard. How Tommy's mood would sour whenever Steve mentioned a girl, or how he'd get weirdly competitive about Steve's attention.
At the time, he’d just chalked it up to Tommy being Tommy. Intense. Possessive of his friends. A little too invested in maintaining their status as a duo.
But now? Now Steve wasn’t sure if there hadn’t been more to it. Something Tommy himself probably didn't even understand, let alone know what to do with. And instead of dealing with it, he'd turned it into something ugly—control and jealousy dressed up as loyalty.
"You know what though? That's okay." Steve shook himself from his thoughts and gave Nancy a genuine smile. "I have you two now."
"Yeah, you do." Jonathan's lips twitched into one of his rare smiles as he bumped his shoulder against Steve's. "Even if you do have terrible taste in movies."
"One time," Steve protested. "I suggested Top Gun one time—"
"You suggested it three times," Nancy corrected.
They pushed through the cafeteria doors and were immediately hit with a wall of noise—hundreds of conversations overlapping, trays clattering, chairs scraping against linoleum. Steve's shoulders tensed instinctively. Lunch period. His least favorite part of the day.
It used to be different. The cafeteria had been his kingdom once, every table a potential place to hold court, every face turning toward him with interest or envy or admiration. Now it felt like walking into an aquarium, except he was the fish. Every glance felt like scrutiny, every whisper like commentary. He could practically feel the weight of their stares cataloging his fall from grace.
His eyes drifted across the room as they wove between tables, automatically taking inventory. The jocks still claimed their spot near the windows—his former territory, even if they pretended he didn't exist now. Cheerleaders clustered by the vending machines. And over in the far corner, the freaks held their usual table, distinctive in their matching shirts. Eddie Munson sat at the head, arms spread wide as he told some story that had the younger kids hanging on every word, completely unbothered by the social hierarchy that governed the rest of the room.
Must be nice.
Steve looked away and followed Nancy and Jonathan to their usual table near the back.
Nancy and Jonathan’s laughter was still playing on a loop in Steve’s head as he swerved around the short procession of limousines and town cars lined up at the curb of the school, and pulled into his usual spot in the parking lot. And really, how was he supposed to know that when the tickets said the prom theme was ‘Costume Ball’ what the organizers really meant were big poofy gowns, overly embellished suits, and venetian masks. Surely he couldn’t be the only one who’d misunderstood.
Surely.
Thankfully he’d already resigned himself to an evening of abject humiliation, so he slid out of his car with his fedora laden head held high, and his faux leather whip strapped to his side.
He’d always had a thing for Indiana Jones.
Nancy and Jon climbed out of the back of his car right after him, their faces now carefully schooled not to show any signs of the earlier teasing as they straightened their coordinated outfits. Mrs. Wheeler had outdone herself with her sewing machine. Nancy was beautiful in her carefully tailored homemade suit, its dusty rose shades a perfect compliment to the green in Jonathan’s. As much as she’d lectured to Steve about traditions and rights-of-passage to get him here, she’d forgone the expected silhouette of a dress or gown, and looked incredible doing it. It almost made him glad he’d come.
Almost.
“Let’s get this over with,”
They walked into the gym as a unit, with Steve in the middle and Nancy and Jon flanking him on either side. Despite Steve’s insistence that he would survive walking in alone so the couple could commemorate the night, they skipped the processional and the line for photos against a ghastly background that looked as if it had been borrowed from the old shut down Glamour Shots store in the mall.
Movies and TV would lead you to believe that all high school proms are held in the immaculately decorated ballrooms of fancy hotels. Maybe that was true for some lucky upperclassman in the world, but as dedicated to fundraising as the Hawkins High prom committee had been, they were lucky to have afforded a professional DJ, let alone raise the cash needed to book such a venue.
Someone had done a nice job with the space though.
A DJ booth, complete with some sunglasses wearing douche-bag pretending to scratch records behind it, sat atop one side of bleachers, wrapped in a dark velvety fabric. The opposite side of bleachers were folded up against the wall, covered in more of the same black material and adorned with half a dozen giant spray-painted cardboard venetian masks in metallic jewel tones.
Disco balls hung from each of the raised basketball hoops, spinning in time with each other from either side of the gym, the light reflecting off their mirrored surfaces in a dazzling display. It was like standing inside a prism, or being showered in a storm of glittering stars.
“Is that toilet paper?” Jonathan leaned in to ask, nudging him in the shoulder to point out the white crepe paper hanging in looping swirls from rafters in the ceiling.
Or, maybe Steve was just a hopeless romantic, who—though he’d fought tooth and nail against coming at all—was secretly holding on to the hope that the prom night magic he’d witnessed in countless rom-coms might prove to be a real thing.
They made their way to the refreshment table, where someone had set up a truly impressive punch bowl display—three tiers of glass bowls full of a sea-foam green liquid that looked disturbingly like Baja Blast cascading down like a fountain. Steve grabbed a cup, more for something to do with his hands than actual thirst, and took a cautious sip. Yep. That was Baja Blast alright, only severely lacking bubbles.
Nancy and Jonathan flanked him as they drifted toward the edge of the dance floor, the three of them standing in an awkward little cluster while couples swayed and spun around them. A slow song was playing—something syrupy and romantic that Steve didn't recognize—and he could see Nancy shifting her weight from foot to foot, clearly torn between wanting to dance with Jonathan and not wanting to abandon Steve.
It was sweet, really. But also kind of painful to watch.
“Go,” he said, waving them off with a teasing scowl. “Make some memories. You don’t need to stand here babysitting me all night.”
Jonathan looked ready to protest, and honestly Steve wasn’t sure how much of it was for his sake or if Jonathan was just happy for the excuse to sit out, but Nancy took his hand.
“Steve’s right. He’s a big boy,” she said with a smirk.
“Exactly,” Steve agreed, straightening himself to his full height. “Fully grown. Practically ancient. Might have to sit down soon, actually, these knees aren’t what they used to be.”
“Hilarious, Harrington,” Jonathan snorted, muttering a soft and sarcastic “thanks a lot,” as he let Nancy tug him away and onto the dance floor. The two of them quickly vanished into the crowd.
For a moment Steve just stood there, letting the bass from the speakers thrum through his ribcage like a second heartbeat. He’d never been a wallflower before. The few dances he’d attended in the past had been whirlwinds of sneaking shots of cheap vodka in the bathroom with Tommy and twirling whichever pretty girl approached him first around the dance floor until they both got dizzy.
He wandered along the edges of the court, careful not to step on the trailing hems of anyone’s dress. He tried to pretend he was cool with being alone, that skulking around like a creepy stalker while happy couples danced around him was totally what he had planned.
It wasn't working.
He checked his watch. Twice. Examined the refreshment table like the arrangement of cookies and cheese cubes was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Retied his shoes even though they were fine. At one point he ended up standing near a speaker, nodding along to a song he didn't even like, just to seem like he had a purpose for being there.
He was seriously considering calling it a night, sneaking away while Nancy and Jonathan were off doing their thing, knowing they’d find their own way home, when he spotted her.
The only other student at Hawkins High who had misunderstood the assignment as badly as Steve had. A mummy, with a wild tangle of long curly hair, swaddled head to toe in ragged strips of off white cotton and gauze. She stood just past the bleachers, out of the main crowd, but close to it—watching—just like Steve.
He didn’t recognize her. He couldn’t see much of her face, most of it being hidden beneath her costume, but a set of plush pink lips, as well as a lovely pair of huge, dark, kohl-lined eyes peeked out from between well placed bandages. As one song transitioned to the next, he watched her start to sway a little to the beat. Like maybe she wanted to dance but was hesitant to cross that invisible line between holding up the wall and throwing herself into the throng of bodies alone.
Oh, don’t you dare look back
Just keep your eyes on me
I said you’re holding back
She said, shut up and dance with me
This woman is my destiny…
Steve must have heard the song at least a million times on the radio, but he’d never really listened to the lyrics before. Not until now. They glared at him like a flashing neon sign from the universe, daring him to cross that floor and meet his fate head-on before he lost sight of her and she vanished forever.
He straightened his fedora and smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt before crossing the gym floor with purpose, weaving through dancing couples without looking away from the enchanting figure of the mummy. He was almost to her when their eyes met.
And just like all the fairytales said, time slowed. The rest of the world fell away, the thumping bass from the DJ’s speakers fading into a distant echo. If birds didn’t start singing it was only because the school hadn’t accounted for it in the budget, but Steve would have sworn the air between them shimmered like magic—like something out of a dream.
Like he’d stepped inside a storybook and onto the page where Prince Charming sees Cinderella for the very first time.
A smile tugged at his lips, and he raised his hand in a casual, hopeful little finger wave as he approached. She blinked wide, startled eyes at him, glancing quickly over her shoulder as if checking to see if someone else might be standing behind her. Like his attention must have been meant for someone else.
His stomach dropped. Of course she didn’t think he was looking at her, why would she? Every girl in Hawkins seemed determined to steer clear of Steve Harrington for one reason or another. Why had he thought she would be any different? She looked so cool in her costume—edgy, mysterious, and probably way out of his league even before his fall down the social ladder.
Still, he was already here, standing in front of her. Something had pulled him to her, some force of nature, soft but persistent, like a delicate thread tied between them.
At worst, he would embarrass himself. Nothing new there.
At best?
Well…
He’d have to see where the night led.
When the mummy turned back, Steve held her gaze, let her see the soft smile pulling at his lips and the subtle tilt of his head that said plainly—yeah, you.
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering to life, but beneath it was a spark of curiosity.
He could work with that.
Steve took a steadying breath, mouth half-open to try and say something—a joke, an introduction, maybe apologize for bothering her—but the music was too loud for any of that. She’d be lucky to catch half of it. Besides, what would he even say, really?
Instead, he simply offered his hand.
For a moment, she stared at it like it was a rattlesnake about to strike. Then her gaze snapped up to meet his, flicked back down, and quickly up again. It went on like that for long enough that Steve started to feel like a jackass, his hand hanging awkwardly in the air. But he held strong, kept that charming boyish smile plastered on his face until finally—finally, she reached out and rested her ringed hand in his.
The moment they finally touched, something shifted.
There was no magic, exactly, not in the way media portrays it. There were no thunderclaps or colorful glowing light. It was more like a final puzzle piece gently clicking into place, like his palm had been waiting for this exact shape to fit inside it.
Her grip was light, cautious, but once they were joined she didn’t pull away.
And he didn’t give her the chance to second guess herself again.
With a crooked grin, Steve tugged her out onto the dance floor, weaving between sequined shoulders and ruffled skirts. Past clusters of their classmates, too focused on having fun to even glance their way.
Only when he finally found a space for them among the gyrating masses, did he let go of her hand. He mourned the loss of her touch immediately—such an odd thing to feel with a relative stranger—but he wanted to give her space. To let her dance with him, instead of making her follow his lead.
He kept it loose, casual, a little bounce to his side-step, an easy shimmy of his shoulders to the beat. Nothing flashy or embarrassing, just enough to invite her in.
For a heartbeat, she hesitated.
Then slowly, gradually, she began to move. And boy, could she move. Her steps were sure, her limbs swinging with an expected grace, so out of place with her costume and yet she pulled it off effortlessly. She bobbed her head, wild curls bouncing to and fro as her body fully surrendered to the beat. No longer the shy demure creature hiding in the corner, she looked confident, sexy, like someone who was undeniably comfortable in their skin.
Steve was in awe.
He was entranced.
He was, maybe, a little envious of that last bit, but more than anything he was absolutely smitten.
Steve beamed, his hips catching the rhythm, his hands floating up to hover in the air between them, coaxing her on. In return he was treated to the most amazing sight yet. Those luscious lips he’d been admiring spread into a warm, charming, answering smile.
Emboldened, Steve pulled out his signature spin-move. All instinct, and little to no talent, he extended one arm with an exaggerated flair, jump-crossed his legs, and twirled in place with all the finesse of a marionette on tangled strings. He came back to center slightly off-balance, one shirt-trail flailing where it had come untucked and his fedora askew.
He laughed, loud and unrestrained. It all must have made for a ridiculous sight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was having fun, real honest-to-goodness fun, for the first time in too long and it felt so fucking good to let go.
He looked up to find his lovely dance partner laughing right along with him, with a hand slapped over her mouth and her dark-lined eyes crinkling at the corners.
God, those eyes. He could get lost in those eyes.
Big and sparkling, they tracked his every movement now as they swayed and shuffled together. Every time Steve leaned in, she’d lean back—but never too far. Like a wave rolling out, only to come right back again, the pull of the tide stronger than before.
Just when they were really getting comfortable, his confidence rising, her guard continuing to soften, the music began to shift. From pounding bass and remixed pop vocals to something gentle and slow. A ripple passed through the crowd, the high energy of a moment ago fading into a hush of anticipation, bodies drawing closer as the mood turned intimate, the air charged with possibility.
I found a love for me
Oh, darling, just dive right in and follow my lead
Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet
Oh, I never knew you were the someone waitin' for me
The mummy went still beside him, her playful energy from moments before shifting to uncertainty. He could sense it, the tension in her body, the way her weight shifted backward like she was preparing to flee.
No!
Not yet.
He didn't think. Didn't give himself time to second-guess or worry about rejection.
Steve’s hands found her waist, slender and strong, the bandages there criss-crossed with care, just like the rest of her costume. He pulled her a little closer, and for once there was no hesitation, no beat of pause. She went to him willingly, her arms finding their way over his shoulders as their bodies pressed together.
Chest to chest
Cheek to cheek.
And the rest of the world, or at least the gymnasium, simply faded away.
They were nearly the same height, making it easy for Steve to bury his face in the mummy’s curls. He breathed her in, overcome with the most wonderful sense of rightness. He’d danced with a lot of girls. Made out with a decent few. But everything about this girl was different. Her personality, even without words, radiated something sharp. A hint of snark shining through. Her presence and the way she carried herself, equal parts confident and shy. It was all so alluring.
She even smelled different. There was no hint of the fruity body sprays or floral perfumes that had filled the backseat of Steve's car over the years, but something earthier. A little musky, a little sweet. Tobacco and oiled leather—sandalwood. The scent clung to her like the lingering smoke from a campfire, warm and impossible to forget.
It was all making him a little dizzy, but in the best way.
He’d come here tonight expecting humiliation. Pity maybe, if he was lucky. Certainly not this, not her. Already he knew he never wanted to let her go.
Cause we were just kids when we fell in love
Not knowing what it was
The lyrics washed over them, loud but also distant somehow, like the soundtrack to the movie of his life running commentary in the background.
They swayed in place, bodies aligned, locked in their own private rhythm while the rest of the room remained blurred in meaningless motion.
After everything he’d lost this year, his friends, his reputation, the self he’d thought he was—that he thought he’d liked, until it all came crashing down and he realized how much of it had been a hollow performance.
He wanted to chase this feeling. Bottle it. Memorize every detail. The weight of her in his arms. The smoky scent of her hair. The way his heart suddenly felt too big for his chest.
But darling, just kiss me slow
Steve almost did.
He almost tilted his head a little so his mouth could find her temple. Only a brush of lips, nothing too much. A quiet—thank you. A soft—please don’t pull away. But he held back at the last second, unsure of his welcome.
Unsure of himself.
Who even was he now without Tommy and Carol and the whole facade he’d hidden behind his whole life?
What kind of guy showed up to senior prom dressed like Indiana goddamn Jones and somehow, someway, wound up dancing the night away with a sexy mysterious mummy girl?
A better one.
The thought made him smile against her cheek.
She still said nothing, but at the same moment her grip around his shoulders tightened a little. Just for a second. Like maybe, somehow, she felt the same.
Like maybe this was her impossible night too.
Up close like this, Steve caught teasing glimpses of what her costume was trying to hide. A slip of pale skin peeking out where gauze shifted, the faintest shadow of a collarbone, a sharp line of jaw, soft lips parting as if she were about to say something but thought better of it. He tried to place what he could see of her face, thought back on every hallway glance, every lunch table laugh, every girl he’d chatted up in the stands at a game. Nothing clicked.
For a second it ate at him, the not-knowing, like an itch just under his skin. Who she was. How she fit into this strange night and turned it into something that felt bigger, brighter, more momentous and unforgettable than he’d ever expected. But then her thumb brushed lightly against the back of his neck, soft and unthinking, and his brain just… quieted.
He didn’t care who she was. Not right now.
All that mattered was that she was here, with him, even if only for the length of a song or two.
Steve closed his eyes as the song slowed to its final verse, not ready to let go of the fragile connection that had only just begun to form between them.
The last lingering notes faded and almost immediately gave way to pounding bass, a track that rattled the gym floor beneath their feet. Around them, couples split apart, or regrouped into raucous clusters, and the special moment—their moment—threatened to unravel like a half-remembered dream.
She shifted against him. A small movement, but enough for him to feel the loss before it even happened. Her hands loosened from around his neck, the press of her body retreating ever so slightly.
“No,” he said, more breath than word. Not yet. His hands tightened, sliding instinctively down to the small of her back, holding her close as if maybe he could convince her to stay by touch alone.
For a long beat, she didn’t resist. Her head tipped slightly as she looked at him, studying his face like an exotic bug pinned under glass, like he was something she’d never seen before. The weight of her gaze was almost overwhelming, and it held him there, breathless.
Then she shook her head—just once.
Steve’s heart sank like a stone.
This was it.
This was the end of their story.
But instead of walking away, her fingers curled around his wrist, warm and certain. With one sudden, insistent tug he was moving, stumbling in her wake as she wove a purposeful line through the crush of bodies towards the far side of the gym.
“Wait, where—?” He started, but his words were swallowed up by the music.
She led him past the last few couples, down one of the rows of folded bleachers stacked against the wall, and without a word slipped into a narrow space beneath them. Steve followed without thinking, ducking instinctively under the metal frame, half-expecting to hit his head on a cross-beam.
But there was more space than he expected. He straightened, finding himself in a small, shadowed pocket of privacy, where the music was muffled—yet still impossibly loud—and the shifting lights couldn’t reach.
Before Steve could catch his breath, before he could even process where they were, the mummy's hands were in his hair and her mouth was on his.
The kiss was hungry, almost desperate. As if she'd been holding back all night and finally, finally let herself go. Her fingers tightened in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as she pressed closer, and Steve made a sound he'd be embarrassed about later—something between a gasp and whine.
His hands came up instinctively, finding purchase on her hips, the small of her back, anywhere he could touch. His fedora tumbled off, forgotten, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. The world narrowed to just this—her mouth on his, the growing heat between them, the way she kissed like she wanted to crawl inside his skin.
It was dizzying, overwhelming in the best possible way. When Steve finally pulled back to catch his breath, he framed her face with careful hands—gentle, reverent—thumbs brushing over the gauze-wrapped edges of her jaw.
"Hey," he breathed, barely audible even to himself.
He leaned back in, but slower this time. Softer. Tender.
The mummy surged forward immediately, capturing his mouth again with that same fierce intensity. There was an urgency to it, something almost frantic, but Steve was determined to slow things down. To savor this. His tongue laved over hers, long gentle strokes with soft, lingering pressure. They had time—all night!
Longer, if she'd have him.
Gradually, she softened against him. The frantic edge melted away, replaced by something deeper, sweeter. Her fingers slipped from his hair, sliding down to rest against his chest, right over his racing heart.
Sooner than he would have liked, Steve had to draw back again, and rested his forehead against hers. Sweat dampened his hairline, and he could feel the heat radiating off both of them in the close confines of their hiding spot. The mummy’s brow was damp too, her breath coming so rapidly Steve thought she might hyperventilate, and concern flickered through the haze of want.
He leaned in close to her ear, lips brushing the lobe.
"Let me get you some water," he murmured. "I'll be right back."
Steve ducked back out from under the bleachers, straightening up and immediately felt the loss of his mystery girl’s presence. He smoothed a hand through his hair—probably a lost cause—and made his way across the gym floor toward the refreshment table.
He was reaching for a couple of water bottles from the neat rows lined up on the table when someone bumped his shoulder—gentle, purposeful.
"Having fun?" Nancy's voice was warm with amusement.
Steve looked up to find her and Jonathan standing there, both grinning at him like they knew exactly what he'd been up to. Which, judging by his probably wrecked hair and the fact that he was definitely still flushed, they absolutely did.
"Maybe," Steve said, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"Maybe," Jonathan repeated with a snort. "Dude, your shirt's on backwards."
Steve glanced down like an idiot. It wasn't, because of course it wasn’t, it’s not like they’d gotten undressed or anything. But it could have been, honestly, and he wouldn't have noticed.
Nancy laughed, reaching up to smooth down a particularly wild piece of Steve's hair. "I'm glad," she said softly. "You deserve this."
Warmth bloomed in Steve's chest. "Thanks, Nance."
"So, where is she?" Jonathan asked, craning his neck to look around.
"Waiting for me," Steve said, already backing away with both bottles in hand. "Which is why I gotta—"
"Go," Nancy waved him off, still smiling. "Go!"
He went.
Water bottles clutched in his hands like precious cargo, Steve wove through the crowd in record time, ducking back into the narrow space between the bleachers seconds later.
"Hey, I've got—"
The words died in his throat. The intimate space that had held them both moments ago was completely empty. Steve stood frozen, scanning the shadows like she might materialize if he just looked hard enough.
Nothing.
His stomach dropped, that warm, fuzzy feeling evaporating instantly like it had never been, replaced with something cold and hollow.
She was gone.
He took a step forward, then another, forgotten water bottles falling from his hands to roll across the floor. That's when he saw it—a glint of silver on the court.
A ring.
Her ring.
A chunky band with a single large black stone set in the center.
He'd felt it pressing against the back of his neck when she'd kissed him. Seen it catch the light when she'd first taken his hand.
Steve crouched to pick it up and closed his fist around it.
She was gone, and the only hope he had of finding her again lay in the metal biting into his palm.