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Signing yourself up for a month-long summer road trip with your younger brother and Steve Harrington had seemed like a good idea two months ago. Because two months ago, Steve Harrington was just a friend. Just a friend who laughed at your jokes like he thought you were actually funny. Just a friend who remembered the little things you told him. Just a friend whose mere presence made you feel safe and understood in a way you hadn’t ever felt before.
Just a friend.
Just a friend whose name now seemed to live beneath your skin. Just a friend whose smile made your dark days brighter. Just a friend whose laugh you could recognise anywhere.
Just a friend.
You didn’t know exactly when falling for Steve had happened. All you knew is one day, you started looking for him in every room you walked in. Your heart did traitorous things in your chest when he would say your name. You started feeling sick to your stomach when he would tell you about his date from the night before. You started caring way too much about your outfit and hair if you knew that there was even the slightest chance that you were going to see him that day.
And so, a month-long road trip with Steve? It was going to be a problem.
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“Dustin—you don’t need ten hats!” You scold your younger brother lightly as you pull out five of the ten hats he had decided to pack in his suitcase. “We’re meant to be packing light for the trip, Steve said to—”
“—Steve’s being dramatic,” Dustin replies flatly, snatching the hats back from you. “If you can bring half your wardrobe with you, then I can bring my favourite hats with me.”
You manage to refrain from rolling your eyes but your face still warms. Admittedly, you had packed a little too much but in your defence, you were going on a long road trip with the guy you were secretly in love with so of course you wanted to look nice. But you couldn’t tell Dustin that.
“Fine,” you concede, picking up the bag of toiletries you had packed for your brother (because you didn’t trust that he would remember to pack sunscreen by himself) and shoving it in his case. “Take the hats with you! See if I care.”
“You seem to care an awful lot,” came a voice that made your stomach feel light, as though you had missed a step going downstairs. Your face feels warm as you turn and see Steve Harrington standing in Dustin’s doorway.
Fuck, he looked good. Ridiculously so. Steve looked good in a way that it should be illegal to look like that. He was wearing some jean shorts that showed just a hint of his delicious thighs, a light green shirt that was unbuttoned at the top to expose a smattering of his chest hair and his hair looked windswept and effortlessly cool in a way that told you he had spent way too long styling it.
“She does! She’s trying to dictate the amount of hats I can bring like she hasn’t brought six different pairs of shoes. Who even needs that many shoes?”
You turn to glare at your brother. “I’m being practical, okay?”
“What’s practical about six different pairs of shoes?”
“Says Mr. I-Need-Ten-Hats-Or-I’ll-Explode—”
“—hey, hey!” Steve interjects, stepping closer and placing a hand on both yours and Dustin’s shoulders. The touch was strictly platonic but it still lit a fire in your gut. “No bickering between the Henderson siblings until we’re at least in South Dakota.”
Dustin frowns, pulling out the itinerary you had made from his bag and scrutinising the map for the trip carefully.
“But that’s like…day six of the trip! We can’t go that long without—”
“—well, just try for me, yeah?” Steve smiles, dropping his hand from Dustin’s shoulders but letting his touch on you linger for a beat. He squeezes once before letting go. It makes you hot all over and you find yourself once again wondering how you were going to cope for the next thirty days.
Your hand brushes over the spot that Steve had just touched, unable to help yourself. Neither Steve or Dustin seemed to notice, both too engrossed in an argument over who would be in charge of the music for the drive to Chicago.
“I’m just—going to finish packing,” you say, more to yourself than to the two guys who were still bickering.
You slip out of Dustin’s room seemingly undetected, heading across the hall and into your room. Your suitcase was packed and you just had to put the last little bits into your backpack. Your sunglasses, a first aid kit (just in case), a copy of the itinerary you had made, a polaroid camera and a list of the books you needed to read before your first semester at University of Illinois Chicago, just in case you found any second-hand ones at a book store.
“Still can’t believe you’re leaving me to deal with your little brother by myself,” says Steve from somewhere behind you.
“Jesus, Harrington!” You exclaim, startled, causing you to drop the book list. You quickly turn to face the guy you were desperately trying to hide your feelings for. He was smiling, leaning against your bedroom door like he belonged there. “Don’t sneak up on me like that—”
“—sorry, sorry,” Steve says, holding his hands up in surrender and smiling at you before stepping forward and bending down to grab the book list you had dropped. “Is this your book list for your first semester?”
“Yep,” you say with a small nod.
“Are you excited?”
You give a small shrug. “More nervous than anything,” you tell him after a moment. “Being away from my mom, Dustin and yo—Tews.”
Your face warms, trying not to dwell on what you had almost said but Steve doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s too busy looking at the boxes you had already started packing ready for your move to Chicago at the end of August.
“You shouldn’t be nervous,” Steve tells you gently. “You—you’re going to be great. You’re smart. You’ll figure things out. You’ll make friends, maybe even meet a guy who's smart too. Not as smart as you but you know—smart.”
You laugh because you didn’t know what else to do. You wanted to tell him he was being ridiculous because guys that weren’t Steve Harrington didn’t interest you.
“I’m going for my education, Steve,” you say, busying yourself with packing the rest of your backpack so he couldn’t register the slightly flustered look on your face.
“Oh—of course, yeah. Totally,” Steve says as he hands you back your book list. His fingers brush against yours momentarily and the touch does funny things to your gut. You wonder once again how on earth you were going to cope with the close proximity with Steve over the next month. “Hawkins is just going to suck without you, Henderson.”
Your eyes flicker up to meet his hazel ones and find yourself struggling to fight back a smile. You knew he was just being friendly. He was probably just going to miss having you around so he didn’t have to be the only one able to give Dustin a ride to the arcade. But the sentiment was nice all the same.
You zip your bag close and swig it round onto your back. You go to grab your suitcase but one of Steve’s hands shoots out before you could take it.
“I got it, Henderson,” he tells you, giving you a lazy smile as he rolls your suitcase out of your bedroom. “Your chariot awaits, Lady Henderson!”
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The first few days of the trip had been—eventful. The journey to Chicago had taken almost four hours and Steve and Dustin had spent most of the car journey bickering about the best Star Wars movie. You were glad to get out of the car once you had arrived at the motel. You had spent the first two days exploring the city, Dustin wanted to see your University campus and Steve seemed set on finding the best deep dish pizza. You then set off for Milwaukee and spent the most of the day at the Art Museum where Steve had dozed off in the middle of one the galleries. Dustin had suggested leaving him there but you had vetoed the idea.
You were now driving towards Minneapolis. It was almost a six hour drive and so you and Steve had agreed to split the driving between you.
You happily sipped on a cherry slushie as you flick through another page of your book. You had stopped in a book store whilst in Milwaukee and picked up a copy of The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood which had come out only a month or two ago. And so, you had spent most of the car journey speeding through the novel. Steve kept trying to ask you about it but Dustin kept asking questions about where you were going to be staying.
“We’re camping this time, Dustin,” you cut in before Steve began to lose the will to live at Dustin’s incessant questions. You bookmark your page before turning in Steve’s passenger seat to look at Dustin. “At, um, Eden Campsite, I think. We can drop off our things and then head to Minnehaha Falls.”
“Oh, right,” Dustin says with a small nod. “And whose tent am I staying in?”
You blink, looking at Dustin before glancing at Steve who looks equally confused.
“You—no one’s. You were meant to bring your own tent, Dustin.”
Dustin looks incredibly sheepish and you know then that you shouldn’t have trusted your brother to pack for himself.
“Dustin!” Steve groans, rubbing his temple as though he was holding back from losing his shit at your younger brother. “Why didn’t you pack a tent—”
“—Mom said I could share with my sister—”
“—Mom also forgot to mention that it’s only a one person tent,” you retort. “My tent doesn’t have enough room for the both of us.”
Dustin huffs before looking over at Steve who—you knew for a fact had a much bigger tent.
“I’m not sharing with you,” Steve says matter of factly with a small shake of his head.
“What am I meant to do? Sleep outside?”
“I mean, if it’s an option—”
“—what would be so bad about sharing a tent with me, Steve?”
“Maybe the fact you snore so loud that it could wake the dead—”
“—so? That’s not enough to—”
“—and the fact you had a spicy breakfast burrito and I do not want to be sharing a tent with you when that decision comes back to haunt you.”
Dustin looks visibly annoyed now, his arms crossed over his chest as he tries to think of a solution that doesn’t leave him in a sleeping bag outside.
“Fine. Why don’t you two share and I take the smaller tent? Problem solved.”
You nearly choke on the slushie at Dustin’s suggestion.
Steve splutters out a response that you barely hear, too busy trying not to think about sharing a tent with Steve—
“—your sister doesn’t want to share with me,” Steve insists, ears red and glancing at you as you cough to mask the warmth of your cheeks.
“Why not?” Dustin asks plainly. “You’re both adults. It’s not like you’ll be sharing a sleeping bag.”
The comment does nothing to help the situation, in fact, all you can now think about was squeezing into a sleeping bag beside Steve. Imagining him pressed up against you, his large arms wrapping around—
“So—what d’you think, Henderson?” Steve asks you and it’s the sudden silence that snaps you back into reality.
“Huh?”
Steve shoots you a look, an easy smile on his face as he pulls onto the highway. “You—me and my dad’s expensive tent?”
You swallow. You don’t dare look anywhere else. You just nod because there wasn’t much else you could do.
“Sounds great,” you say, returning Steve’s smiles before glancing back down at your book.
When you pulled into the campsite five hours later, the sun felt unforgiving. You had to borrow one of Dustin’s hats as you helped Steve set up the tents.
“You’re really sure you’re okay with sharing a tent?” Steve asks you quietly as you hand him a tent pole. “I mean—I don’t mind sharing with Dustin if you don’t want to.”
You look at Steve and you can see the hesitancy there. The need to make sure you were comfortable and you feel everything in you soften. The truth was that you wanted nothing more than to share a tent with him, you wanted any excuse to be close to Steve. You just knew it was a bad idea considering you had fallen for this guy and didn’t know how to get back up.
There were a lot of reasons you couldn’t be honest about your feelings for Steve. For starters, you were sure that he didn’t feel the same. He didn’t look at you the way he looked at other girls, he spoke quite openly to you about the girls he had dated and of course, there was the fact he had told you on multiple occasions how much of a ‘good friend’ you were. The words had felt like poison in your gut but you ignored it. You decided being his friend was enough. And besides—even if theoretically Steve did like you, you would be moving to Chicago for University in the next two months and you didn’t think it would be fair on Steve. And so, ‘just friends’ was okay. ‘Just friends’ was safe.
“I don’t mind sharing,” you tell Steve sincerely. “Just don’t snore too loud, okay?”
Once the tents were set up, the rest of the afternoon was spent hiking along the creek before you reached the bottom of Minnehaha Falls. The sight of the cascading waterfall was nothing short of breathtaking and you found yourself just staring at it while Dustin ran off to sneakily join the back of a nearby guided tour. Steve had stayed with you, offering you a sip from his water bottle before suggesting taking some pictures with your polaroid camera. You had smiled a little nervously but quickly pulled out your camera. You took photos of the waterfall mostly before Steve managed to sneak his way into shot. He smiled looking so effortlessly handsome it took your breath away before you reminded yourself of what you were doing.
“This one’s the best,” you say, handing him the polaroid that captured him standing directly in front of the waterfall. “You look—um, it’s just a nice photo.”
Steve takes it, once again your fingers brush against his and you can’t help but dwell on how his touch sends shockwaves through your body.
“Thanks, Henderson,” Steve says, pocketing the photograph before he holds out his hand. “C’mon, your turn.”
You blink, momentarily confused before you realise what he meant. “Oh, oh—no, no. It’s okay! I don’t want—”
“—I insist,” Steve says, gently praying your camera from your hands and stepping back from you as he holds up the camera.
You feel awkward, you were wearing your little brother’s hat, an old Hawkins book club t-shirt and some gym shorts and suddenly you deeply regretted letting Steve take your camera.
“Steve—can we just forget it? Please?”
But Steve shakes his head, smiling at you encouragingly. “C’mon! Just one smile, please Henderson?” He pouts a little and that was your undoing. You give Steve a small, slightly forced smile and hear him snap a photo.
“Beautiful,” he says, missing the way your eyes widen at the word as he glances down at the photo as it develops.
You think about that word for the entire hike back to the campsite. You think of it as you help Steve with the barbeque. You think of it as you head to the showers. You think of it as you sit in front of the campfire warming marshmallows. And when both you and Steve retreat into the same tent and you lay in a sleeping bag beside him, you think of that word again and again until you fall asleep.
Beautiful. He had said you were beautiful.
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The next stop after Minnehaha Falls was Badlands National Park, then a quick stop to visit Mount Rushmore before a long drive to Denver. After two days exploring the city, you then set off for Moab, Utah. The journey had taken almost ten hours due to stand-still traffic. You had missed your reservation at a campsite as a result and had to stop off at a motel instead. Steve had gone out of his way to find some Little Debbie snacks for you since you had been pretty down about it.
And today was the start of your journey to Las Vegas. You were agitated, especially after the events of yesterday. You had decided to take the first half of driving just to get it over with and you were relying on Steve to be in control of the map since Dustin had decided to fall asleep barely ten minutes into the journey.
“Okay—so you’re gonna wanna go right—no, no. Go left actually, sorry. These roads are so damn small—”
You breathe through your nose. It had been twenty minutes of this. Of Steve trying his very best to give you directions but you were tired, incredibly so and Dustin was snoring behind you and—
“Oh—shit,” Steve mutters, glancing down at the map and up at the road signs whizzing by. “Fuck. I think we missed our turn.”
Your jaw clenches. In all honesty, you wanted to explode. You felt wound up, a mix of the heat beating down onto Steve’s beamer, the infuriating sounds coming from your brother and the fact the stress from yesterday was still catching up with you.
“You’re not serious,” you mumble, glancing over at Steve before looking back at the road. “Steve, I can’t turn around now, we’re on a highway—”
“Okay—okay,” Steve says gently, sensing your impending freak out. “I’m sorry—just come off at the next exit, yeah?”
You nod, jaw tight but you do as he says.
Twenty minutes later, you were back on track but you still felt irritable and you weren’t sure why. You decide to pull into a gas station to grab a drink. Steve barely has time to pull out his wallet for you before you’re scrambling out of his car.
Once in the gas station, you head straight for the chilled drinks section and rest your head against the glass, sighing softly in relief.
“You good, Henderson?”
You mumble out something incoherent, eyes closed and head still resting against the refrigerator. Steve chuckles, placing a hand on your back and rubbing it soothingly. Steve’s gentle touch was somehow even more of a relief than the cool glass and you find your shoulders sagging with the release of tension.
“M’sorry,” you murmur out quietly. “You’re just really bad with directions. It pissed me off.”
Steve laughs at your brutal honesty, hand still remaining on your back as he carefully watches the side of your face. “I figured.”
You swallow, pulling away from the refrigerator to look at him to find him already watching you. His hazel eyes flickering over your face as though chronicling every microexpression.
“You know—I know you like to plan but there’s some things you can’t plan for. Traffic is one of them,” Steve tells you.
You hate that he could read you so well. It annoyed you but it also made you fall for him that much harder. Because he seemed to understand you without even really trying.
“I know I just—we had a reservation and we missed it and we lost money and—”
“—and we got an alternative. It’s okay. Things go wrong sometimes.”
You nod because you understood that—you really did. Your dad left when you were eleven, you knew things went wrong sometimes.
“I know I just—I keep thinking what if that happens when I’m at college,” you say quietly, your voice barely heard over the hum of the refrigerator behind you. “Like what if I’ve spent so long planning for college and it goes wrong and—”
“—hey, hey,” Steve’s voice is gentle and his hand leaves your back so he could take both your hands in his. “None of that. Okay? What did I tell you, Henderson? You’re a smart girl. Trust yourself. If things go wrong, if you have a shitty professor or you realise you want to major in art history instead then you’ll figure it out. And if things go really wrong? You call me.”
He squeezes your hands and you feel as though your heart had exploded in your chest in the middle of a gas station store.
“Really?” You ask him, your eyes flickering between his hazel ones. “Even if it’s the middle of the night—”
“—especially then,” Steve says with a faint smile. “C’mon, let’s go get you a slushie.”
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Las Vegas had been probably one of the highlights of the trip so far. You hadn’t been able to enjoy much of the nightlife—due to the fact you had a fourteen year old accompanying you—but it was the first night of the trip that you had stayed in an actual hotel and you had soaked up every bit of it. You had ordered room service and spent the evening watching movies until you all fell asleep. You had woken up the next morning with your head resting on Steve’s shoulder. After Las Vegas, you had taken a long drive to the Grand Canyon where you had stayed at a lodge overnight. Steve had bought you the ugliest t-shirt from the gift shop he could find in what was fast becoming a tradition for the two of you every stop—to find the most garish souvenir in the store that the other had to wear for the rest of the day.
Then there was a brief stop off in Sante Fe before a two day car journey to Austin. By this point in the trip, you were all exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. And so, the next day when you arrived in New Orleans, it was no wonder Dustin told you he was going to stay back at the hotel while you and Steve went out to explore the city.
“Are you sure?” You ask Dustin as you pause by the motel door. “I mean we could always stay in—”
“—and miss out on beignets?” Steve asks you, incredulous. “Have you lost your mind, Henderson?”
You stifle a laugh before looking back at your brother who looked perfectly content with his mountain of snacks and a handful of horror movies Steve had rented for him from a nearby video store.
“I’ll be fine,” Dustin tells you, already popping open a bag of cheese puffs and taking a large handful to stuff into his mouth. “Jus’ ‘ave fun!”
You nod, face slightly furrowed in disgust at the way he was eating before you shut the door behind you.
“Ready to go?” Steve asks, smiling at you and holding out his hand for you to take.
You glance down at his hand because god, did Steve Harrington have good hands. Large, veiny and long fingers that you just wanted to—
“Yeah,” you say, face hot as your thoughts spiralled. You took his hand before you could think anymore of it but of course, it didn’t help. Not one bit.
New Oreleans was beautiful but at night, it was even more so. You spent half the time walking down the street beside Steve with your mouth hanging open. It was a vibrant city and there seemed to be a constant swell of music—some of it a soulful jazz before it blended into a lively, energetic number.
You found beignets very quickly and you decided to walk along the river beside the French Quarter while you ate them.
“You look—you look really nice by the way,” Steve tells you as he takes the bag from you.
Your face warms, you were wearing a dress for the first time this trip since you were properly out in a city at night. Plus, you had secretly hoped Steve might like it.
“I mean—not that you don’t look good in a dress. You look great in anything. But the dress is just—it’s—yeah. Nice.”
“Nice?” You repeat, biting back a laugh as you wipe some powdered sugar from your lips.
Steve’s face turns a little red and he glances out towards the water for a brief moment. “I mean—you look beautiful. You always do. I was just—”
There it was. That word again. Beautiful. Steve thought you were beautiful. That you were always beautiful.
“—I got it,” you say, nudging his arm as you try to control the way your heart felt as though it was trying to beat out of your chest. “Thank you, Steve. You look nice too.”
Steve laughs, scratching the back of his neck and causing his shirt to rise up a little. It takes everything in you not to look down at his happy trail that was now exposed.
You continue to walk along the river, sharing the beignets between you as the sun starts to set. As you turn to watch the sunset, you hear a faint clicking sound and you turn to look at Steve and—
“Did you take my camera?” You ask, face warm but smiling as you notice your polaroid camera in his hand that he had clearly packed into his backpack without you noticing.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, looking down at the polaroid developing in his hand. You step forward to look at it too and when you see that he had taken a picture of you—of you in one of your favourite dresses staring out at the sunset—you feel something funny in your stomach. As though you had missed a step going downstairs.
You swallow, looking at the photograph before you look back at Steve to find him already looking at you. The sound of gulls and the water lapping against the rocks was all you could hear outside the beating of your heart. The look between you lasted perhaps five seconds or maybe even five minutes, you weren’t sure. All you knew is Steve’s eyes eventually moved down to your lips and everything began to feel a little fuzzy.
You don’t speak. Neither does Steve. You just stare at each other, he’s still holding your camera and the polaroid he had taken of you and you’re still holding the almost empty bag of beignets.
“You got a little,” Steve murmurs, pointing a finger to the corner of his mouth and you blink for a moment before you realise—he wasn’t looking at your lips because he had wanted to kiss you. You still had some powdered sugar on your lips.
“Oh,” you exclaim, your body burning hot in embarrassment as you lift a hand to wipe the corner of your mouth. “T—thank you. Is it gone—”
Steve swallows, shaking his head and as you glance down, feeling a wash of humiliation, you don’t notice how Steve steps closer. How he slides both the polaroid of you and your camera back into his bag. “No. It’s the other side.”
“Oh,” you say again, your face now burning in shame as you lift a hand to wipe the right side of your mouth.
But Steve’s fingers wrapping around your wrist stops you.
“I got it,” he murmurs, stepping into your space as he lifts his now free hand to cup your jaw. You’re breathless. Your brain can’t compute what was happening. All you knew is Steve Harrington’s thumb was gently wiping away powdered sugar from your lips and staring at you like it meant something.
“Steve, I—”
But whatever you were about to say never left your lips. Because Steve was leaning in and he was kissing you before you could finish your sentence.
His lips were soft and his kiss was maddening. You could barely believe what was happening and it took you a full five seconds and him almost pulling away from you for you to respond. Which you do, eagerly.
The bag containing the beignet for Dustin falls onto the ground by your feet as your arms wrap around his neck, your lips moving against his in a way that had Steve groaning a little against your mouth. His hands move to your waist as he kisses you slow, deep, pouring every ounce of feeling he could into the kiss.
You could have stayed there for hours, especially when you felt him tug you closer. Especially when he used his tongue to gently coax your mouth open. Especially when he encouraged you to slide your hands through his hair. But the sound of a cyclist angrily ringing their bell at the two of you making out in the middle of the walkaway pulls you apart.
Steve smiles at the cyclist sheepishly as he places a hand on your lower back to guide you out of the way. Meanwhile, you’re breathless and touching your lips that felt wet and swollen from the kiss.
“You taste like beignets,” he tells you, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair that had fallen out of place behind your ear.
“So do you,” you say.
You both just look at each other and smile. You smile so hard it nearly hurts.
“Why did you—”
“—kiss you?” Steve asks with a smile that stretches across his handsome face. “Because—because I wanted to and because I was going to go insane if I had to spend one more day on this trip without telling you.”
“Telling me what?” You ask, trying to sound casual despite feeling anything but.
Steve looks at you for a moment, his eyes darting over your face as though he was trying to memorise every inch of it.
“That I like you,” he says finally. “That I really, really like you. I might even love you. Fuck, I definitely love you. I mean, why else I am on a road trip across America with Dustin Henderson? It’s because I’m crazy about his sister!”
It was near impossible to fight the smile off your face. You wondered if you were dreaming but then—even your wildest dreams weren’t as good as this. Weren’t as good as Steve Harrington kissing you, of him tasting like beignets and holding you like you were something special.
“And I know, I know you’re going to college and shit, this is probably a terrible idea. I mean, you’re you and you’re probably going to go to Chicago and do great and forget all about me and—”
You’re the one to interrupt him this time, with a kiss to his lips that leaves Steve weak at the knees. This kiss is just a little more desperate, your hands weaving through his hair and his cupping your jaw so he could tilt your head back and deepen the kiss.
You pull away before you could indulge yourself anymore, smiling as he tries to chase your lips.
“Steve, I’m never going to forget you, you know that right?” You ask him. “Two hundred miles—”
“—two hundred and thirty miles, actually,” Steve mutters. “I checked.”
Your heart thumps at the implication. He checked. Like he had thought about it. Like he had looked at the distance between Hawkins and Chicago and it had mattered to him enough to remember.
“Two hundred and thirty miles isn’t enough to make me forget you,” you say, meaning every word. Your hands in his hand trailing down to rest on his chest, where you felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “And it’s certainly not enough to make me stop loving you.”
Steve blinks, slowly digesting your words. Big hazel eyes sweeping over your face as though trying to find a hint of dishonesty. But when he finds none, he just smiles back at you before he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, eyes closing for a moment as though he could barely believe it.
“So, we’re really doing this then?” Steve murmurs against your skin. “You in Chicago and me in Hawkins?”
“I mean, only if you want to, I understand if—”
“—I want to.”
And you know he means it. Because when it came to you, two hundred and thirty miles was nothing if he got to be with you.
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The remainder of the trip passed by quickly. After New Orleans, you had travelled to Nashville where both Steve and Dustin had attempted line dining. Dustin had made some excuse and given up after ten minutes but Steve was determined to get it right so he could dance with you. You had spent a few days there before driving to Cincinnati before finally making the drive back to Hawkins.
And Hawkins was exactly how you had left it. It was just you and Steve Harrington that had changed.
Your mom had a million questions when you returned from the trip, as did Robin. Dustin seemed glad to finally have some distance from you and Steve and your ‘canoodling’ as he called it. But even he couldn’t deny that you made each other happy.
You had a month together before you left for Chicago and that month was full of movie dates, dinner dates and the occasional mini golf date. It was full of Steve Harrington being unable to resist you and you being equally unable to resist him.
And when it came time to say goodbye at the end of August, Steve looked as though he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
“You’ll call as soon as you’re there?” He asks you, mimicking your mother’s request as you put away the very last box in the boot of your car. “And you’ll call me about next weekend too, right? And—”
“—Steve, you’re doing it already.”
“Sorry, baby.”
“Ugh, gross,” Dustin groans as he passes by, pushing his bike up the driveway. “Could you at least wait until I’m gone?”
“I’ll miss you too Dusty Bun!” You call out to your brother as he reaches the top of your driveway. You hadn’t told Steve that earlier this morning, Dustin walked into your packed up bedroom and burst into tears.
Dustin glances back at you and flips you off before he rides off down the street.
“Little punk,” Steve mutters before looking back at you. There’s a look on his face that you can’t quite decipher and then you realise that he was trying not to cry.
“Oh, Stevie,” you murmur gently, your own eyes betraying you as you wrap your arms around your boyfriend. “It’s okay. It’s only Chicago. I’m not going to the Moon.”
“I know, I know,” Steve sniffles, pressing his face into your shoulder and hugging you back tightly. “I’m being ridiculous. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” you tell him, your fingers gently running up and down his back in the way that you learnt Steve loved. It made him squirm for a moment before relaxing in your arms.
“M’just really gonna miss you,” he murmurs against the skin of your shoulder before pressing a gentle kiss there. “A lot.”
“And I’m going to miss you too,” you tell him before forcing yourself to pull away from the embrace to look at him. “But we’ll be okay, yeah?”
Steve nods, sniffling and quickly wiping his eyes. “Yeah. We’ll be okay.”
He takes a deep breath before he leans in and kisses you. It was like that kiss you had shared in New Orleans—slow, deep, everything you needed and more—only this time he didn’t taste like beignets and now he knew the shape of your lips like the back of his hand. Knew just the right amount of pressure to make you feel lightheaded. Knew how you liked it when he ran his hand through the hair at the nape of your neck. And you knew how he liked it when your fingers brushed down his chest. You wished you had more time, wished you could take him inside and to your bedroom so you could lose yourself in him.
But you had to pull away. You had to get in your car and start the journey to Chicago.
And you do just that—you pull away from your boyfriend with a final kiss to his lips before moving around to the driver's side of your car. Steve rushes to open the door for you, unnecessary but it makes you smile anyway.
“See you soon,” you say as you roll down the window and smile at him.
“Real soon, baby,” he tells you with a determined nod. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
And then—he watches as you drive away.
It hurts—it really fucking hurts knowing that you wouldn’t be twenty minutes away from him anymore. Hawkins wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be the same.
But as Steve tucks his hands into his jean pockets and begins the short walk home, his fingers brush against two polaroids. He takes a moment to stop walking and pull out the photographs.
One was you in New Orleans, standing in front of the sunset in a beautiful dress and the other was of you in front of Minnehaha Falls—Dustin’s stupid ‘Thinking Cap’ hat on your head, an old Hawkins book club t-shirt and some gym shorts—and Steve smiled before tucking the memories back into his pocket because no matter what adventure you were on, Steve Harrington would always love you.