Chapter Text
Do what you want
but you're never gonna break me.
July 1985
"I already fucking told you," Steve wheezed, his lungs on the verge of collapsing. "I work at Scoops Ahoy scooping ice cream for a living. I also apparently flirt so badly that I have a 'you suck' board and–"
A solid punch to the stomach knocked the air out of Steve with blood splattering from his mouth, causing him to hunch over and groan in pain.
If someone had told Steve he'd end up getting interrogated in a secret Russian bunker tied to a chair back to back with Robin Buckley, he'd shove them and ask if they were on drugs.
Steve never thought his life would take a turn into this crazy clusterfuck, running around with a gaggle of kids and fighting off monsters from another dimension like some sick horror movie. He was supposed to be searching for colleges, fighting with his absent parents because he didn't get into said colleges, or even finding love. Anything other than getting beaten to the brink of death by sociopathic Russians who believed he was an American spy.
"Leave him alone you fucking assholes!" Robin yelled, thrashing against the rope binds.
Steve couldn't imagine how battered he looked at that moment. His head pounded with an eerie ringing shrieking in his ear, crimson saliva dripping from his mouth to the shiny concrete below. Excruciating pain throbbed behind his eye, feeling like it was going to fall out of its socket. His whole body screamed from the cruel abuse, his mind dissociating as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He felt like nothing more than a rag doll.
A firm hand gripped Steve's hair at the roots and lifted his head, making him flinch from the tension. Wild eyes glared into his with a ferocity that made him shrink further into his chair.
"Well, American, I have a very special job for you. No more ice cream scooping for you," the Russian Colonel singsonged, punctuating it with a taunting cackle.
The Colonel beckoned towards the guards in the room and muttered to them in Russian. The guards immediately circled Steve, cutting his rope ties and manhandling him out of the chair. Steve screamed as he flailed his legs in every direction, sneakers squeaking as they dragged him against the smooth floor.
"Steve! No!" Robin wailed, her metal chair screeching against the floor as she struggled. "Take me instead! Please!" A brutal slap connected with her cheek, the sound crackling off the walls like a snap of a whip.
"Robin! Don't hurt her! Please, let me g–"
A sharp pinch stabbed into the side of Steve’s neck, his vision swirling as bright colors danced with the vibrant lights overhead, numbness tingling through his limbs. Robin's screams echoed throughout his head before darkness finally swallowed him whole.
—
The soft thumping of Steve's head bouncing off the wall rose him from his dreamless slumber. He blinked away the blurry fog from his vision. His body jostled around like he was in a moving room, making bile rise in the back of his throat.
The aftermath of the drugs shared similarities to a hangover; a pounding force behind his eyes, nausea swirling in his guts, and a ringing in his ears that wouldn't fucking go away.
Panic twisted around Steve's lungs, his breaths coming out shallow as he scanned over the unfamiliar atmosphere. Steve was still dressed in his Scoops uniform with dried blood smeared down the front of his shirt. His face felt swollen and sore from the consistent punches, one eye completely sealed shut. A scratchy rope bound his wrists and ankles in front of him, digging into his skin as he tried to break free.
The room's parameters resembled the size of a large shed, pitch black with only a few beams of light trickling in through tiny holes in the ceiling. The shrill sound of a horn pierced through his sensitive head while the floor vibrated underneath him, the crates and boxes rattling against each other.
How did he end up on a train? And why?
An eternity passed before the train finally screeched to a halt. Steve curled in on himself, shivering from the fierce chill attacking his exposed body.
The rusty side door of the boxcar flung open, the metal shrieking, and revealed the Russian Colonel as he stomped across the floorboard towards Steve. Two guards followed him inside, faces stern and distant.
"Rise and shine, American," The Colonel said, kicking at Steve's shoe.
"Where the fuck are you taking me?" Steve rasped, his words breaking up the cobwebs tangled in his throat.
The Colonel crouched down to Steve's eye level. "Your new home." His grin was knowing and sinister like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
"I'm not going anywhere with you, dickhead!" Steve rocketed a glob of spit into the man's face and whacked his shoulder with his bound wrists, face turned up in pure defiance.
The Colonel glared at Steve with hostile eyes, the dribble of spit cascading down his cheek till he wiped it away with his palm. Abruptly stepping away, he turned towards the guards and nodded his head. One of the men slammed his fist into Steve's cheek, causing his head to collide with the wall.
Thunk!
"Fuck," Steve pathetically whimpered, his body on the brink of crumbling. Twinkling stars swirled in his perception as his brain swished inside his head. Steve swore a flash of pity crossed the other guard's eyes, but it vanished and fell into a stone mask before Steve could examine it further.
The Colonel uttered a few words in Russian to the men before exiting the boxcar, not even glancing back in Steve's direction.
The guard that hit Steve stepped forward, but the other man halted him and murmured a few words into his ear. The aggressive guard nodded and trudged out of the boxcar, leaving Steve alone with the other guard, whose icy blue eyes oddly expressed sadness.
"Come on. We don't have much time," the Russian guard whispered as he crouched down and reached into his pocket, pulling out a switchblade.
Steve crowded against the wall and turned his head away, quivering with his hands covering his face. "Please, please don't. Just leave me alone.” He scrunched his eyes closed, bracing for the inevitable impact.
"Sh, sh, sh. You're okay, I'm not going to hurt you," the guard cooed, his Russian accent like velvet, soothing and sincere. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe, yes?"
The man slid the knife between Steve's skin and the rope, slicing through it till it fell to the floor. He wrapped his arms under Steve's armpits and hoisted him off the ground with ease, bringing him mere centimeters away from the man's face. Steve's cheeks slightly pinkened at the proximity.
The man eased away, keeping an arm cloaked over Steve's shoulders to steady him. He reached over and snagged a large blanket draped over one of the crates, wrapping it over Steve's head and leaving only a small slit for him to peer out of. The guard snaked his arm back over Steve's shoulder and directed him out of the boxcar at a rushed pace.
"This will help cover your obnoxious girly pop outfit." The man chuckled, a smirk curving on his lips.
Steve snorted and rolled his eyes. "It's just part of the Scoops uniform, man."
Peeping through the small opening, Steve took in all the people scurrying around at the train station, too absorbed in their own world to even spare a glance in his direction as he shouldered on by. He tried to control his stumbling, his feet tripping over each other as he fought to gain feeling in them again.
The sharp noises around him pierced at his throbbing head like bee stings, buzzing their wrath inside his skull till it left him dizzy and disoriented. Steve leaned most of his weight into the man as he coursed him through the train station, Steve's head twirling in circles at each turn in the maze. But before he knew it, the parking lot finally flashed into view.
"We're almost there," the man whispered. "You're going to be okay, I promise."
After guiding Steve towards a maroon car, the guard unlocked it and swiftly helped Steve into the passenger seat before closing the door and heading to the driver's side.
All in a hurried motion, the man entered the vehicle, turned the ignition, and slammed his foot on the gas, speeding out of the lot. Once they were a safe distance from the train station, Steve yanked the blanket off his head and glanced at the guard with confusion reflecting in his eyes, but the guard kept his focus directed at the road.
An awkward silence filled the space as they drove down the highway. Steve's head rested against the cool window, his breath fogging up the glass as the pine trees whizzed across his vision, human life diffusing each mile they traveled down.
"What's your name, American?" The man asked, finally breaking the silence.
"Oh, um- Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm surprised you didn't know that already." Steve huffed, surveying him with an arched brow.
"They don't tell me shit." The man returned a light scoff before turning the car down a side street full of gravel, the car shaking around from the miscellaneous potholes dotting the road.
Steve cast his head down and picked at a hangnail. "So, what's your name?"
"Dmitri Antonov."
Steve hummed in acknowledgment and shifted back to his fixation on the scenery outside the window, awkwardness drowning out the car once again.
Fear resided its home in the pit of Steve's chest, weakening his breathing like ice froze over his lungs.
Why did Dmitri save him? What purpose did it serve?
For all Steve knew, Dmitri could be dragging him off to his impending doom, snatching him up only to gut and torture him in the middle of the woods like a damn psychopath, where no wandering eyes could rescue him from his death.
Russian guards usually showed Steve zero mercy, breaking him down without so much as a flinch to their cold exteriors. The trauma latched itself to Steve's weak mind, shadowing his trust in people who wanted to help him from the kindness of their hearts.
The car traveled down the bumpy road for a few miles before a rustic log cabin presented itself behind the cover of the forest. Plush pine trees and thick bramble surrounded the secluded home with a shallow river running behind it. A covered porch circled the home with two rocking chairs and a small table by the front door.
Once they parked, Steve opened the car door and clambered out of the vehicle, cloaking the dingy blanket over himself. His legs wobbled on each step as his body swayed side to side, the aftermath of the drugs and the physical abuse disorienting his mind.
Closing the driver's side door behind him, Dmitri glanced over with worry in his eyes before rushing to Steve's side. "Here, let me–" Dmitri leaned down and wrapped one arm behind Steve's knees and the other supporting his upper back, hoisting him up bridal style. Steve gasped as the ground disappeared under his feet, his arms flying around Dmitri's neck to secure himself.
"Shit, u-um, thanks," Steve stuttered, his eyes darting away from Dmitri's face. "You really didn't have to do that. I could've walked just fine."
"Not from where I was standing." Walking towards the cabin, Dmitri gave a lopsided grin and raised his brow. "It's not a problem."
Once they reached the front porch, Dmitri eased Steve back onto his feet. The floorboards creaked as Steve rocked back and forth on his heels, picking at the dirt and grime underneath his nails while he waited for Dmitri to unlock the front door.
After Dmitri turned the key, the door smacked against the wall from a strong gust of wind forcing its way inside. Steve flinched from the impact before Dmitri ushered him inside, swinging the door closed behind them.
Age shrouded the cabin but it carried a cozy warmth to it, similar to the memories of Steve visiting his grandma's house in the forest every summer; it was beautiful and nostalgic.
The living room was spacious with high vaulted ceilings, a light brown couch faced a grand stone fireplace with a furry white rug in between. Candles, books, and miscellaneous knick-knacks were scattered throughout the cabin on tables and shelves, giving it a homely feel like it was lived in and nurtured.
A long breakfast bar separated the main room from the open kitchen with a small dining area off to the side. It was rustic but in a neat and organized kind of way like it was pulled straight out of a vacation-get-away magazine.
Dmitri hung up his prison guard hat and coat before guiding Steve to the couch, taking away Steve's current blanket and tossing it by the door. He replaced it with a soft-knitted one he grabbed off the back of a chair, wrapping it over Steve's shoulders.
Steve plopped onto the bouncy cushions, snuggling into the blanket and soaking in all of its warmth. After adding a few logs to the fireplace, Dmitri crumpled up a couple of pages of old newspaper and threw them on top. He snapped his Zippo lighter open and ignited the flames. While the setting sun ducked behind the trees, a soft orange glow invaded the room, forcing the shadows to cower into their corners.
"Be right back. Need to get the first aid and some wet rags," Dmitri said before disappearing through a doorway.
Dmitri returned in a flash with all the items before settling next to Steve on the couch. He grabbed a wet rag and lightly dabbed away the dry blood littering Steve's face.
"How bad is it?" Steve asked, wincing whenever Dmitri went over his swollen eye.
"They really did a number on ya." Dmitri stroked his finger over Steve's puffy cheek. "Your face is pretty swollen on one side and a few bad gashes but I'm more worried about the damage to your head. We'll keep an eye on it."
Steve huffed. "Nothing new there. I'm always getting my head bashed in one way or another."
Dmitri frowned but continued to diligently wipe away all the blood until he cleaned it all off. He then added peroxide and ointment to all the gashes before sealing them behind bandages.
Steve took the moment to glance over Dmitri's features with his face only inches away. Glaciers reflected in Dmitri's irises, an ocean blue Steve would drown himself in. A mustache rested above his plush pink lips which drew in Steve's focus. He could accept this man was extremely attractive, handsome even.
He'd accepted his attraction for men and women for a few years now but never acted on it for fear of the inevitable backlash. Steve was supposed to be a lady killer, a perfectly polished son, and a prom king. Life carried on easier when he blended in with society's standards rather than going against the grain. But now, his feelings played tug of war with the rights and wrongs, conflicted and confused.
However, one question lingered in the back of Steve's mind, pulling him away from his internal struggles.
"Why're you helping me?" Steve knitted his brows together, drawing in on himself like Dmitri would lash poison at him.
Dmitri glanced away and gave a long sigh. "What they're doing isn't right. I -uh, didn't want to see that happen to you."
Steve twisted the fuzz from the blanket between his thumb and forefinger. "What were they going to do to me? Where were they taking me?" He drew his eyes up and stared into Dmitri's gentle gaze, his tone wispy and weak.
"To the prison. They're doing weird experiments with the prisoners there. Training something, I think. A creature of some sort." Dmitri stared into the flames with a pained expression, fire dancing inside his glassy eyes. "I've never seen it but I've heard it. I've heard the screams of prisoners falling to their deaths and the screeches from a beast that's unlike anything I've ever heard before."
Steve's body froze in fear with his one good eye widening. A tremor crawled up his spine while he clenched the blanket, knuckles painted white.
Could the monster appear in other places besides Hawkins? Was it even possible?
"Where am I now?" Steve questioned.
"In Russia. But you’re safe here," Dmitri reassured before reaching his hand out till it landed on Steve's knee, his thumb stroking circles into his bare skin.
Shock etched across Steve's face, staring at Dmitri in disbelief. "They brought me all the way to Russia?"
Pressing his lips together in a fine line, Dmitri sighed and shook his head as he stood from the couch. "I'm sorry." Dmitri's eyes roamed over Steve's form, assessing him. "Take off your shirt. I need to tend the other wounds. I'll go put a change of clothes on the bed for you."
Exiting the room again, Dmitri left Steve a blushing mess on the couch, his breath catching in his throat. Steve should be used to it given all the times he showed his bare chest to half the Hawkins High population, but this situation held a different tone. It made him squirm in his seat like he was on a first date. Steve timidly peeled his Scoops shirt over his head and tossed the ruined clothing on the floor.
Walking back into the living room, Dmitri sat down again and surveyed Steve's injuries with a pained expression. Horrendous bruises peppered Steve's torso while deep scrapes tainted his once flawless skin. His insecurities would point and laugh at the inevitable scars left behind.
"Going to put pressure on your sides, let me know if it hurts, yes?" Dmitri asked as he turned and faced Steve, his eyes holding a serious tone.
Steve nodded and inhaled a deep breath before Dmitri's rough fingers ghosted over his chest, goosebumps bubbling across his skin. Dmitri slowly descended to Steve's ribs, putting pressure on the area, as Dmitri licked his lips, a light blush blooming on his cheeks.
"No pain," Steve informed, his heart skipping a beat.
Dmitri skimmed his hand to the other side and pushed along his rib cage. An agonizing pain seared its way up Steve's body like a dagger stabbed into his side. He hissed and jerked away from the harsh pressure.
"Shit! Yeah, that fucking hurt," Steve gasped, sheltering the throbbing area with his arms. "No more of that, thank you."
"I'm sorry." Reaching for the first aid supplies, Dmitri tended to the slashes on Steve's torso. Steve grimaced as the sting from the disinfectant pierced his wounds. "My guess is you have a few broken ribs. But what the hell do I know? I'm no doctor."
"Great, look forward to that." Steve huffed, sarcasm laced in his voice. His eyes drooped while Dmitri patched up his arms, a few yawns spilling from his mouth. Fatigue weighed his mind as pain throbbed throughout his entire body.
Once Dmitri wrapped the last bandage on Steve's wrist, he helped him off the couch and led him into the backroom which turned out to be the bedroom. A beautiful king-sized bed filled the majority of the room while a small fireplace crackled in the corner. A thick purple quilt rested over the mattress with different designs etched in each of the little squares. The soft cloud called out Steve's name, urging him to face-plant into it and hibernate like a bear during winter.
Walking over to the bed, Dmitri grabbed a bundle of clothes and handed them over to Steve. "Hopefully they fit okay."
"Thank you," Steve said, his eyes slightly watering from all of Dmitri's tender gestures. "You didn’t have to do all of this for me."
"Hey, it's okay. I wanted to." Dmitri extended his hand towards Steve's face and brushed his fingers along his jaw while sapphire eyes peered into his soul. Steve's breath hitched as blood pulsed in his ears. A magnetic pull inched their bodies closer, an unknown tension seeping through the air.
Breaking the trance, Dmitri stepped back and coughed into his fist, avoiding all eye contact. "Oh -uh, you can take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
Steve stared in bewilderment. "What? No, this is your place. I'm not going to kick you out of your bed."
"Absolutely not. You're hurt." Dmitri pointed his finger at Steve to emphasize, his voice holding a serious tone. "You're getting the bed, end of discussion."
"Fine." Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. "You're lucky I'm too tired or I'd fight you more on it."
Dmitri snickered before continuing, "Extra blankets are in the chest at the end of the bed if you get cold." Dmitri pointed to the nightstand containing a glass of water and a pill bottle. "Take one now and then another in the morning." Steve picked up the little white bottle and narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips as he attempted to read the Russian print.
"It's just painkillers, I'm not going to drug you, ya know?" Dmitri huffed with a gentle smirk, eyes playful.
"Oh -uh, Right," Steve stuttered before clearing his throat and setting the bottle back down. "Yeah, I know. I know. I'll definitely need them tonight. My head is fucking killing me so thanks again."
Dmitri shot him a friendly smile. "Let me know if you need anything else." Turning to exit the room, Dmitri mumbled a quick 'Good night, Steve' before closing the door behind him.
Dropping the clothes on the bed, Steve exhaled a huge breath from the core of his lungs and embraced the much-needed time alone. He rolled his shoulders, stretching the sore muscles as he trudged to the ensuite bathroom.
Once Steve was face to face with his reflection above the sink, his stomach plunged. He gaped at himself in revulsion, tears threatening to break as he stared at himself. An illusion straight from a fucked up funhouse mirror, cuts and bandages littering his swollen face; he was hideous. Disgusting. Repulsive.
Steve prided himself in his appearance, picking away all the flaws till he represented perfection. But now, he resembled a horrid troll who lived under a bridge. Steve tore his eyes away from the mirror, clutching the edge of the sink and swallowing the bile threatening to spill from his throat. Steve shoved himself away from the counter and walked back to the bedroom, putting the image of himself behind him.
Steve undressed out of his dirty uniform before pulling on the clothes Dmitri gave him; a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants that snugged his lean frame. He popped a couple of painkillers into his mouth and chased them down with some water, the cool liquid submerging the drought in his throat. Setting the empty glass on the nightstand, Steve slid under the warm blankets and melted into the bed, the stress draining from his muscles.
He rolled onto his side and turned off the bedside lamp, swallowing the space in darkness with only the white hue of the moon painting the floorboards.
The eerie silence invaded the room, drawing attention to the mosquito-like ringing in Steve's ears. He clenched the pillow in his arms, fingers digging into the seams. The dam finally broke and tears streamed down his face, wetting the fabric and muffling his feeble whimpers; not wanting to burden Dmitri with any more of his suffering.
Questions rolled around in his head like a chaotic avalanche and he was a small hiker scrambling away from the mess.
Why was he here? Would he ever return home? Why him? What could've happened to him if–
Dmitri.
Dmitri saved his life.
If what Dmitri said was true, he rescued Steve from a torturous and brutal death, an agony he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. Dmitri stuck his neck out for him, maybe even risking his life, so he didn't end up like the other prisoners.
Steve should be worshiping this man and kissing the ground he walked on, but Dmitri was still a Russian guard. The same people who bashed him till numbness bled through his nerves and ripped him away from his home.
Hiccups trickled between Steve's lips, the river of tears finally reaching a drought as exhaustion took its course and brought him to a deep slumber.
—
Steve awoke the next morning to the chattering of birds outside his window and the smooth aroma of coffee wafting in from the kitchen. A warm ray of sunshine beamed across his face, making his eyes squint. His body still throbbed with pain, but his mind was refreshed and coherent.
Steve eased his head from the squished pillow, yawning and stretching his stiff muscles before swinging his legs off the side of the bed, bare feet planting on the soft rug. He swallowed down a couple more pills before padding his way out into the living room.
The daylight cast the cabin in a different glow. Sunshine paraded through the atmosphere with vibrant colors painted across the walls, a mystical aura surrounding the area like it was from a fairy tale book. Steve could live in a place like this, a cozy home filled with character and personality, contrasting the sterile and bland shell he grew up in.
Sitting at the breakfast bar, Dmitri stirred sugar into his coffee before turning his head in Steve's direction. "Morning. There's coffee, help yourself." His eyes sparkled in the morning light as he flashed Steve a kind smile.
"Uh, cool. Thanks." Approaching the kitchen counter, Steve poured hot coffee into the mug he snagged from a cabinet, steam diffusing into the air.
Casual morning routines weren't a common practice at the Harrington household. With his parents absent the majority of the time, Steve spent the early hours fending for himself, eating stale cereal with zero company. So, this small interaction with someone was uplifting, domesticated in a way.
Steve took his coffee, a splash of creamer with two scoops of sugar, and perched on the stool next to Dmitri. "What's going to happen now?" Steve blurted out, gazing at Dmitri with hope in his eyes. "Is there any way I can return home? Like at all?"
Dmitri sipped from his mug before heaving out a deep sigh. "You're not going to like my answers."
"Just tell me." Steve's leg bounced on the step of the barstool, nerves knotting in his chest at the anticipation. "Please."
Dmitri stared into Steve's owlish eyes, contemplating before twirling his spoon in the brown liquid, "You're a wanted man, Steve. All of Russia is looking for the American spy who escaped–"
"But I'm not a spy!" Steve interrupted, his face scrunched up in displeasure.
Rolling his eyes, Dmitri dropped his spoon and set him with a disciplinary look. Steve hunched his shoulders and uttered a shy 'sorry' before sipping his coffee in embarrassment.
"Anyways," Dmitri exhaled. "Everyone's looking for you. It's not safe to leave."
Steve's brows knitted together. "So, I can't go home?"
"Not yet. I'm not sure when it'll be safe. But you aren't a prisoner here. You can leave whenever you want to, I'm not going to stop you." Dmitri pursed his lips and cast his gaze back to his coffee. "However, you'd be walking to your death if you did."
A boulder settled in the pit of Steve's stomach. He understood why he couldn't go for a stroll down the streets of Russia, but he still hoped a plane would magically appear and take him back to America. A wishful daydream.
"I get it. I'll stay here." Steve sighed. "You sure I won't be a burden? I hate how I've kicked you to the couch."
Dmitri huffed. "Nonsense, you're welcome to stay as long as you want." He darted his gaze towards Steve, a bashful smile broadening his face with dimples carved into his skin. "Plus I need to keep an eye on your injuries. You got banged up pretty bad."
Steve fought the butterflies stirring inside his chest as he finished the rest of his coffee. "No kidding. But seriously, thank you," he said, gratitude weaving in his tone. "You've done so fucking much. I don't think I can ever repay you for it."
"Don't stress. I enjoy the company anyway." Dmitri rested his hand over Steve's on the counter, brushing his thumb along his bruised wrist. "My shift starts soon. Will you be okay by yourself?"
Steve nodded. "Oh, yeah. I'll find something to do. Maybe a good book to read. You have quite the collection." Steve chuckled as he pointed to the reading corner with giant shelves filled with old books. "Any written in English?"
"There is. My parents collected a lot of books over the years, most of them in English, so help yourself." Grabbing their empty mugs, Dmitri stood and walked to the kitchen sink.
"Is that how you learned to speak English?" Steve asked.
"For the most part, yes." Dmitri scrubbed out the last dish before placing it on the drying rack. "My parents collected a lot of shit from America. They were fascinated with the culture for whatever reason, so I learned a lot of my English from them."
"Oh, that's pretty cool though." Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows, maybe I can freshen up on my Russian while I'm here. Learn another language or whatever." He slid off the barstool and wandered to the bookshelves across the room, pulling out a few to skim over the summaries.
"Well, let me know if I can ever help with that," Dmitri called out over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bedroom.
After picking out a novel, Steve flopped onto the couch and sprawled out till his head rested against the armrest.
Leaving the bedroom, Dmitri threw on his coat and opened the front door. "I'll be home around supper. Stay out of trouble, yes?"
Steve nodded, shooting Dmitri a wave before he closed the door. Exhaling air from his lungs, Steve tossed his book on the coffee table before running his hands down his face. He yanked a knitted blanket over his body and turned onto his side, curling in on himself.
His head pounded from the harsh sunlight peeking in through the windows, the brain fog weighed his mind while the dreadful ringing pierced his skull. Grief twisted around Steve's heart, squeezing tears from his eyes. He missed his stupid job where Robin mocked his swoopy hair. He missed Dustin and the silly little handshake he insisted Steve learned. He missed his whole life back in Hawkins.
Did his friends conquer the Upside-Down nightmare? Did they make it out alive?
Steve hoped someday he'd return home, but for now, he was lucky Dmitri allowed him to stay and hide. He was safe. He was alive and he refused to take it for granted.
Steve's thoughts drifted to the way tension tugged at his emotions whenever Dmitri crossed his mind, a stranger whom Steve should distance himself from. But he couldn't help the spark that jolted through his body when Dmitri threw him a gentle smile.
But the negative thoughts shrieked in Steve's head, holding him back and telling him he'd get hurt; he shouldn't trust this man. It drowned out the meek voice inside his heart, whispering praise and encouragement to give into happiness, to give it a chance.
Steve exhaled a deep breath, clearing the muddied thoughts away from his head so he could focus on the present. Shifting onto his back, Steve reached for his book on the table and opened it to the first page, letting the words carry him to a different world.
