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The dial tone was ringing before his mind could catch up, cord tangled around his fingers as if to tether himself. Glancing at his bedside table, he read the time, the numbers burning bright, hot red behind his tired eyes.
“Steve?”
Hoarse. That’s the first thing he noticed. “Hey. Sorry, go back to sleep.”
“No, it’s fine,” he heard shuffling on the other end of the line, the sound of sheets rustling. “Is everything alright?”
Steve could see it in his mind: you leaning against the headboard, body warm from sleep and hair mussed up, holding the phone gingerly as if it could transfer the fragility of it onto Steve on the other end. He could feel the smile coming on despite himself.
“I uh, I couldn’t sleep.”
You chuckled. “It’s half past two, Stevie. I could tell.”
Stevie. The name filled him with instant warmth, a gooey molasses that was seeping through his body, touching every extremity. You were the only person who called him that (he’d never admit he only ever allowed you to call him that).
“Can I—“
“You don’t have to ask. Come home.”
“Okay.”
Steve cut the call before he could ruin the two of you. It was on the tip of his tongue, that greed that claimed him whenever you were around, that need to make sure you knew how much you meant to him, how much he lived because of you. He knew you were waiting on him.
By the time he’d killed the engine and made it to your window, he could see you sitting up, reading a book under the soft yellowing lamplight. He moved carefully, hands pushing open your window, the creaking sound of it making you smile as you looked up, glasses sliding down your nose. Steve’s heart stuttered an unsteady beat as he righted himself, crossing the threshold towards your bed and collapsing into the soft of your tummy in three steps.
“Take off your shoes, Steve.”
You were carding your hands through his hair now, softly untangling the knots from where he’d been tossing and turning all night. The boy hummed, already feeling warmer as he tucked his toe into the sole of his shoe, pushing it off. They landed on your carpet with a soft thud.
“Missed you.”
You laughed, not unkind. “We saw each other at school today.”
“Too long,” he mumbled, already curling up in your warmth. His arms circled around your waist, a low hum leaving him as you called his name again.
“Was it another one of those nights?”
You watched him from where he squeezed your waist ever so slightly, shuffling closer to you as you went to set your book aside, shutting your bedside lamp off as you did. By the time you’d settled down, Steve had taken to going under the covers with you, immediately wrapping himself around you, holding you close.
“Want to talk about it?”
Steve shook his head, the sound of your giggle as his hair tickled your nose making him smile. He looked up, “I’d rather just sleep.”
You hummed, acquiescing his request, instead moving to trace the tips of your fingers gently over his face as he shuts his eyes. You brushed your hands over his temples, watching his breathing going soft with every pass you made over his features.
Steve had been coming to your house nearly every night since the second week of November, claiming he couldn’t sleep. At first you’d asked to talk about it, watching his shoulders stiffen every single time you’d ask him what had happened. You’d heard that him and Nancy had broken up through Carol and Tommy, and although you hated them, you figured it couldn’t be anything but the truth— they may be assholes, but you knew they loved gossip. They’d never once been wrong when it came to it.
Now as you watch him stick to you, so close to you it practically was like he’s trying to crawl into your skin, you think maybe it’s best if some things remain hidden.
With a soft sigh, you shuffled around, Steve moving in his sleep to hold you close as you shut your eyes. Maybe he’d tell you about it tomorrow.
By the time you woke up, the bed was empty. You groaned, missing the warmth of Steve in your bed against the cold of the winter waning— it wasn’t warm enough yet for you to fully call it a new season, but it was changing beautifully. The boy in your bed last night was a sauna dialled up to the temperature of the sun at the worst of times, and certainly a welcome warmth in this very specific moment in time.
Shuffling, you moved the sheets across the bed, grabbing your warm robe from where it’d been thrown haphazardly across your chair last night. It might not have been as warm as Steve, but it certainly was warmer than your usual nightwear.
As soon as you stepped out of your room, you heard the clatter of pans in the kitchen, followed by a soft fuck. Detouring from where you’d been aiming to go (the bathroom), you made a beeline for your kitchen, pausing at the sight in front of you.
Steve stood comically puzzled as he looked at your stove, trying to figure out how to turn it on. “Put a little pressure on the dial, Steve,” you called out, heading towards him. At the sound of your voice, the brunet boy looked up, smiling sheepishly at you.
“Hey, mornin’.”
You smiled, nudging him with your hip to start the hob, the tickticktick of the stove sounding before the blue flames caught on. You grinned, smug as you flourished your skills at Steve who rolled his eyes.
“Ha ha,” his voice was monotone, but he moved you aside to set the pan on the stove, already pulling out the eggs from your fridge. “Sunny side up, right?”
Steve didn’t even wait for your answer as he cracked the egg with one hand over the sizzling pan, the yolk bubbling and breaking in a perfect circle. You looked up from where you’d been buttering the numerous pieces of toast that steve had popped into the toaster earlier, rolling your eyes at his actions. “Show off.”
He winked at you, looking smug as he turned his attention back to the pan. You watched him for a moment longer, eyes tracking him as he moved around your family’s kitchen, shoulders relaxed and humming a Bruce Springsteen song, before moving back into the hallway and towards the bathroom to finally freshen up.
By the time you’d returned to the dining table, Steve had already plated up your breakfast, one made exactly how you liked while his was piled with scrambled eggs and toast. You laughed at him but he only smiled as you both sat down, steve scarfing down his food at once.
You waited until he’d finished at least three pieces of toast before you bit the bullet. “So, what happened last night?”
Before he could even stop himself, Steve tensed up, shoulders touching his ears. He watched you frown, studying him carefully as you tried to pick apart why he’d crawled through your window after midnight. He only sighed. “I uh. . . I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Is it about Nancy?”
Steve shook his head. “No, it—it isn’t about Nancy. I just. . . it was one of those ones. With my dad, and all that.”
Steve’s heart stuttered, watching you gaze at him with such worry, eyes studying him as if you could gather all his nightmares, all his fears and keep them for him, just so he wouldn’t have to. He could feel the guilt clawing up his throat, watching as you fussed over him for a lie that wasn’t even true. Sure, his dad was an asshole but that wasn’t what was bothering him. There was a whole underside of Hawkins that he’d been vowed to keep secret. Even if he hadn’t, you were the only friend he had left; Steve wasn’t losing you to it.
“Oh, Stevie,” you reached across, squeezing his hand over where his fork had stilled. The boy set it down, turning his palm as he squeezed your hand back, gentle and soft at your frown.
“Well, what can you do, he’s a dickhead.”
Your frowned pulled down even more if that were possible, brows pulled taut with concern as you watched him stare at his eggs. You could tell there was something Steve wasn’t telling you, you just hoped it wasn’t something worse. Ever since November, you’ve seen him cower more at flickering lights, which, while not abnormal (he was scared of the dark, a secret he’d promised you to take to the grave), he moved differently: tense, like a cornered animal whenever the wind screeches a whistling tune. You didn’t think a breakup and his dad could do that, but you didn’t know how to pry without making him clam up completely.
“How about we go shoot some baskets today? The weather isn’t meant to be too bad today.”
Steve smiled, humming. You could see the colour come back to his face as he looked up at you, eyes still watery but now glinting with mischief. “You’re going to regret saying that.”
As Steve rushed you to finish your breakfast, you figured that maybe he was right. But you don’t think you’d regret it enough if he was smiling again. Maybe he’d tell you what truly was happening eventually.