Work Text:
Steve Harrington never thought the week before the holidays, he would find himself stuck in the stuffy classroom grading worksheets with a tacky blue pen because he lost his red one. All while the dozen freshmen whispered around him about trivial things that would never matter in two years.
A couple years ago, December meant an empty house that he’d strung up cheap lights around one night with music blasting through the walls to fill the silence left behind by his parents who decided the holiday season was prime business deals season.
Now his December days were filled with diagrams, immature giggling and the irritating hum of the heater attempting to fill the already humid and strange scented air of teenage puberty. The reward for rescuing the world, apparently.
“Mr Harrington?” The voice was small and hesitant.
Almost fearful in a way.
Suddenly the visions of what had happened such a short time ago replayed in his mind. The scared children stared up at him, hesitant and small, but with so much relief in their eyes as he removed the weird tentacle things from their throats.
Before he could dwell on it for long, he forced his eyes from the paper in front of him to the intruder.
His eyes landed on Mary Turner who was lingering near his desk fiddling with her Christmas sweater nervously. Her blonde hair was pulled into neat pigtails that bounced each time she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes were wide and innocent, cheeks flushed pink as she attempted to calm herself.
“Hey, Mary,” He spoke gently, setting the damned blue pen aside and offering what he prayed was a reassuring smile, “What’s up?”
His eyes scanned her form as he remembered what it felt like to be in her shoes not too long ago. He remembered standing in front of an adult, heart racing, palms sweating, while attempting to form a sentence all while your brain short-circuited. This was before King Steve was created. Before Tommy and Carol. Before he’d saved the world from interdimensional monsters and Vecna. Back when he was just a fourteen year old boy who was terrified something awful would happen if he said the world vagina out loud.
“I, um,” She trailed off, her eyes dropping to her sneakers. She took a shaky breath, before in a rush of courage, she thrusted her hands forward, “I got you this,” Nestled in her palms was a small, clearly handmade card. It had hearts and crooked Christmas lights drawn along the edges, colored in markers that had bled through the paper awkwardly. In bubbly handwriting across the front rested his name: To Mr. Harrington.
Steve’s smile faded, just for a millisecond, before returning back into its original spot like he’d perfected since working at Hawkins’ High. “Thanks, Mary,” he said, taking the card from her carefully as he turned it over, “I appreciate it,”
Mary’s smile returned tenfold as her eyes darted around the room nervously, “Anytime, Mr. Harrington,”
He wasn’t stupid. He noticed the glances, the giggles, the folded notes that mysteriously appeared in his mailbox in the office. Principal Higgins had warned him about this happening when he got hired. That having a young adult male teaching sex ed to teenagers who had just recently graduated was to trigger admirers of all capacities. He just didn’t expect quiet, timid Mary to grow fond of him.
But it was bound to happen.
It still never stopped feeling uncomfortable though.
Before he could say anything further, the classroom door burst open.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Harrington!” The boy, Charlie, blurted. His face was flushed red as he skidded inside, the small instrument in its’ case stationary at his side, “Orchestra practice ran overtime,”
Steve for a moment, felt a wave of relief at the interruption.
It had saved him from the painful lecture of appropriate gifts with Mary that he really didn’t want to have to give to the girl who already struggled enough with public speaking and confidence.
But then the words fully sank in.
Eighth time this week.
The first few, he’d brushed it off like usual. Kids were kids. But now? It was becoming this constant pattern. A problem if that.
“Charlie and Mary, find your seats. Charlie, I’m gonna have to talk to her today, what room is she in?”
Charlie’s face dropped suddenly as he rubbed the back of his neck, “102,”
Once the bell rang, Steve didn’t linger or hesitate. He shoved his papers haphazardly into his folder and stormed down the hall.
The distant clash of strings and off-key notes grows louder and louder with every step as the numbers on the door count down.
109.
108.
107.
106.
It’s louder now. To the point that his ears beg him to turn back.
105.
104.
Maybe this is why this dipshit keeps them for so long, he thought bitterly. They sound like shit.
103.
102.
He didn’t even bother knocking.
The door flung open harder than he had intended, but he was too far deep to turn back now, “Hey, we need to talk,” Steve snapped, his hands on his hips as his gaze flickered over the startled students before locking onto their teacher, “This is unacceptable-”
The words died suddenly in his throat.
She turned.
And just like that, his heart faltered.
She was beautiful in every way that was cruel. It was unfair even.
It was as if he was staring sunlight in the eye as it poured through an open window you didn’t even realize you left open. She stood on the podium with her instrument lowered, posture relaxed, eyes curious instead of annoyed as any other teacher in Hawkins would’ve been.
The students around her waited for her next command, as if she were some god above them. It was incredible. It was unreal.
She felt unreal.
“Hello?” Her eyebrows knit together as she tilted her head in confusion, “Can I help you?”
Steve’s mouth opened. Closed. It opened again.
Nothing came of it but a useless breath that felt like it squeaked out of him as a last resort.
In a single instant, twenty-two year old Steve Harrington was gone. Instead, replaced with the fourteen year old version of himself all over again.
“Mr. Harrington?” One of the students whispered, “What are you doing here?”
Heat had crawled up his neck as the urge to disappear had begun to grow overwhelming.
“Mr. Harrington,” The woman spoke once more, her voice grounding him back to her like she commanded him to. Soft as honey, threaded with a raspy warmth that made his knees feel weak and his hands sweaty, “Did you need something?”
Cold clarity hit him all at once.
He had come here to confront her, not gawk at her.
God, is this how the teen girls in his class felt sometimes? Is this how Mary feels?
“I, yeah, uh,” He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders quickly with false confidence, “I need to speak with you for a second. Super important,”
Super important? Who was he? If Robin could see him now, she would be cackling.
A small smile curved her lips, effortless and kind as she nodded to the class, “Everyone, run that section for a couple minutes, I’ll be right back,”
She ushered him into her office and closed the door quietly, the space between them suddenly far too small for Steve to keep his thoughts professional. Up close, the details hit him all at once. Between the faint gold flecks in her eyes, the dimple that appeared when she smiled, and the scent of vanilla that made his brain short-circuit.
She gestured a hand to the chair in front of her desk, “Please, take a seat, Mr. Harrington,”
Steve swallowed hard, attempting to force the images appearing behind his eyes from his mind. He took a seat on the comfortable chair and forced himself to appear confident, “I just, um,” He shifted slightly, “I wanted to ask if you could keep practices within your time window,”
“Oh?”
God, she was going to kill him.
“Yeah,” He choked on his words as he cleared his throat once more, “I’ve had a lot of kids coming in late, it’s becoming more of a constant thing now. Sends a bad message, you know?”
Her smile grew slightly in amusement, “A bad message?”
He wanted to rip his hair out and also drop to his knees in front of her.
It had been so long since he’d felt this way about a girl. Seeing as the last one he’d obsessed with this much was Nancy Wheeler back in ‘84, he didn’t have much experience chasing instead of being chased or simply messing around.
“You know,” He vaguely gestured around, “To my other students,”
“Well, then I’m really sorry about that,” She spoke, “Sometimes we get carried away and I forget to check the clock,”
He hopes she forgets to check the clock right now.
“But I’ll make sure they’re dismissed on time from now on,” She promises, “You know, to avoid sending a bad message,”
He wants to explode right here, right now.
“I should probably introduce myself, by the way,” She added with a light laugh that sent a shiver down his spine, “I’m Miss Honey, but everyone just calls me honey for short,”
“Honey?” Steve echoed, the name settling somewhere dangerous in his chest, “Is that actually your last name?”
“Yeah, coincidence right?”
Of course it was.
“Yep, very coincidental,”
Thankfully Dustin wasn’t here, he would find a kick out of Steve suddenly having zero charming skills at this present moment.
“Well, Mr Harrington,” She smiled one last time, standing from where she sat at her desk, “This has been a pleasure, maybe I can make it up to you sometime. For you know, being a bad influence on your students,”
“You’re a horrible influence right now,” He mumbled aloud, his brain racing with multiple unprofessional thoughts now.
“I am?” She laughed teasingly, smirking down at him as he quickly tried to save himself from embarrassment.
“No! I mean! I-” He stuttered wildly before standing up and grabbing the office door handle aggressively, “I’ll see you sometime! It’s Steve by the way!”
“Alright, Steve, I’ll see you soon,” Her smirk grew in size as she watched after the man ran away from her.
Over the next few days, coffee cups and small Christmas themed pastries began appearing on his desk during breaks. Each came with a note.
From the worst influence. Stay warm! Happy holidays!