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Hawkins, Indiana. Beginning of Spring Break, 1985.
“Knock, knock.” The prepubescent voice of your younger brother rings through your room, interrupting the scribble of your pencil on your notepad.
Dustin stood in your doorway, wearing a cartoonish tactical vest and socks pulled up high, a closed fist hovering on the wooden frame from where he’d just startled you back to reality.
“Hey,” you gently whispered, a croak in your voice from not using your vocal cords for a few hours. Dustin smiled at you while you went to sit up. “What's up, hon?”
“I'm going out with some friends. Mom's asleep, so I thought I'd let you know .” his curly head tuts down the hall to your mother's room.
You sit up straighter, quicker. Eyebrows furrowed suddenly, “What? I thought we were going to watch Golden Girls tonight?”
“Well…” Dustin's voice rises at least 7 octaves, stepping a foot into your room. “We were, buuuuuut– that new cafe opened across town and everyone wants to go, and Steve offered to drive and–”
The utter betrayal of your younger brother washed over you in waves, “Are you ditching me for milkshakes, Dustin Henderson?”
“What! NO!”
You shoot a glare towards him. Dustin's head drops to the carpet below his feet.
“Yes…”
“I'll remember this, dusty. The great golden girl betrayal of spring break 85.” You huff, rising to your feet to put your notepad and pens on your desk.
Dustin sighs, he flops down, grabbing a throw pillow placed haphazardly on your bed and pulling it close to him. He looks over as you arrange stuff on your desk, obviously working on your next art project.
Dustin Henderson has looked up to his sister from the moment he was conscious, literally and physically. He had always seen you as the epitome of cool. You always gave the best advice to get him through the social confines of elementary, middle, and soon-to-be high school. You taught him to be kind and to care. To have good taste in movies. To be stubborn enough to get his way when it mattered, to never back down. You were everything he had ever wanted to be.
Maybe until this very moment.
Dustin sighs dramatically. “You know,” he picks at the tassels on your pillow, “it’s the first night of spring break, and it's your senior year… you don't have any plans or like senior-stuff to be doing?”
“Senior stuff?”
“I don't know,” Dustin stutters. “I'm not a senior, but I'm pretty sure there's senior stuff to do.”
“Right.. Right…” you sarcastically mock, turning to see Dustin sprawled across your newly washed bedding. At least his shoes were off to the side and not mucking up your white duvet. You squint at him, suspicious to your bones, "What are you getting at here?”
Dustin's eyes travel towards the ceiling, avoiding eye contact as he speaks slowly. “Well, you know, it's a Friday night and like– the weather is perfect, and a lot's going on in town and… you’re in your bedroom.. Drawing and wanting to hang out with your 14-year-old brother…”
“Whoa! Okay, and what's wrong with that, mister suddenly popular?” you say, hand to your chest, slightly offended at whatever Dustin was trying to insinuate.
“Nothing!” Dustin defends, sitting up against your headboard, crushing multiple stuffed animals behind his back. You want to protest, but are currently too blinded by the complete attack coming from your once-loser brother. “Don’t you just want to go out and hang out with your… friends.”
You face drops, “Why’d you say friends like that, Dustin?”
His tone goes stone cold, along with his horrible poker face. Slightly shaking his head, "I didn't. I actually said it very normally.”
“I have friends, Dustin!”
“I never said you didn't! I actually just insinuated that you do!”
“Well, if I wanted to hang out with my friends, which I do in fact have, I would! But I don't want to tonight.” You rush over your words.
Suddenly, Dustin snaps his fingers. You notice the look on his face, and you can practically see the light bulb above his head, “You know what? You can just go with me tonight!”
You roll your eyes, settling on the bed beside Dustin, your voice a little calmer now—less defensive. “I don't know how fun hanging out with a bunch of 14-year-olds will be for me.”
“You like hanging out with me,” Dustin frowns.
You cock your head at him, “You know that's different."
“Steve Harrington will be there…” Dustin mentions.
“Ok?” you say, a little too much attitude in your voice than intended.
“He’s in your class.”
You nod, “yes, but that does not mean we are friends–” scoffing, “he probably doesn't know I exist.”
“Yes, he does,” Dustin responds too quickly, almost interrupting you. You sneer at him suspiciously, almost as if to ask him what he meant by that. “You know, because of me. I mention you sometimes.”
On cue, you hear the honk of who you can assume was Harrington outside your house waiting to pick up Dustin and his friends for milkshakes.
You pat his back, ushering him up. “Be safe, bro.”
Dustin starts to walk out of your room feeling positively defeated by what he thought would be a constructive conversation with his big sister, but you just follow him out happily.
“Offer still stands,” Dustin grabs his stuff and heads for the door.
You smile at him, oh-so tooth-rottingly sweet Dustin. You pat his shoulder off of invisible dust or dirt, “thank you, but I think I'm better off than hanging out with Steve-the Hair-Harrington and your gang.”
“He’s not that bad.” Dustin throws out, and your face is already scrunched up in hesitancy. “He knows he was a dick during high school, and he's a lot… kinder now.”
“Kinder?” you ask. Dustin opens the door, and you see the faint outline of Steve's face behind his car's windshield in the slowly darkening afternoon light. “That thing?”
Dustin giggles, “he's fun.”
“Right..” you laugh, “have fun, be safe. And I'm going to watch Golden Girls and spoil all of it when you get back.”
Dustin starts to descend the creaky wooden porch stairs, looking back to yell, “You can’t spoil shit, it's a sitcom!”
“Watch the language!” you shout, despite the smile on your face.
Dustin's hand wraps around the handle of Steve's car, waving goodbye to his sister before placing himself in the front seat. His head whipped over to Steve, waiting for a greeting—but no dice. Steve's eyes stared forward at Dustin's front porch, more specifically, where you stood.
It wasn't a new idea in his brain to get you and Steve to hang out. After the past few years of having Steve in his life, he has grown more and more into an elderly brother figure. Dustin has thought about it on multiple occasions. Before, it was rare to be with Steve if it didn't involve alien monsters or conspiring against evil dimensions, so not many chances to try and get his slowly social-declining yet awesome sister to chop it up with fastly social-declining yet newly awesome Steve Harrington.
“Steve.”
“Hm?” he had finally snapped out of it, now noticing you had gone inside the house, and now they were just wasting gas and time in his driveway. “Are we going to go, or are you going to keep longingly staring at my sister?”
“Whoa, I am not doing that.” Steve defends, putting the car in gear and reversing out of the driveway, “just making sure she gets inside all right.”
“Yeah, all those 3 feet. A lot could happen.” Dustin mocks, “She's into all those dramatic romance novels; she might like the yearning gaze you just tried to give her from our driveway.”
“Whatever, man. I barely know her now.” Steve waves off, eyes focused on the road.
“I tried to convince her to tag alone tonight,” Dustin mentions for no real reason…
Then Steve responds pretty quickly, and Dustin smiles to himself knowingly. Staring out at the Hawkins streets.
“Yeah? What did she say?” Steve said. Curious as he can be without distracting himself from the road.
“She said she's too good to hang out with Steve-the Hair-Harrington.”
Steve almost swerves a little, “No, she didn't."
“It was close enough.”
Steve scoffs at him before turning into Lucas' driveway.
Dustin then spent the remainder of the night thinking up a plan, weighing out the odds, mysteriously glaring at Steve as Dustin's brain went haywire, and enjoying his chocolate milkshake.
It puzzles Dustin why you were so put off by Steve now. He knew for a fact you used to run around with him and some of his old crusades in at least late middle school, maybe as a freshman. Dustin saw it in the old photos you still had littered around your room, noticing at least one or two with the familiar head of hair. Dustin would notice Nancy too in some.
Dustin also knew you’d grown to be a recluse after junior year, specifically, brushed it off as school getting too busy–extracurriculars. Whatever. And he wasn't going to lie to himself and say it wasn't depressing watching his admirably social sister seemingly cave in on her own isolation.
He had to do something.
So when Dustin came home that night, careful not to wake his worrisome mother. He saw the couch empty except for some messily thrown blankets draped around. Noticing a small note taped to the table.
Ran out of ice cream
went to the 24 hour store
Be back soon incase you get back before me :)
Scribbled out in your cursive handwriting. Right. Dustin thinks to himself. Your car was gone from the driveway when Steve dropped him off.
This was the time, the only time. As he suspects you’ll be a house rat for the entirety of spring break, if Dustin has anything to do with it.
Slipping off his shoes, Dustin tiptoed down the hallway and passed your creaky door, eyes watchful of your window, expecting to see the headlights of your car at any moment. Dustin looked around curiously, not like he hadn't been in here more than a million times. With or without you. Yet, some places still were not all that familiar to him.
Dustin turned the knob of your closet door, pulling the metal string to illuminate the small area. Looking around, a plethora of muted-toned clothes. A lot of it covered the floor, almost completely covering the carpet. Shoes sat on the floor, badly organized. Next to a box of old Barbies, multiple canvases of art, finished and unfinished. Next to a few stacked boxes with your younger handwriting scribbled onto the labels.
Dustin's eyes darted to the one labeled ‘middle school.’
His head whipped back to look out the window again, before falling to his knees to rummage through the box. He found old photos, report cards, arcade tickets, and doodles. Dustin's eyes almost popped out of his head when he found multiple letters addressed to boys in your class. Dustin didn't recognize a lot of them until.
Steve.
Steve Harrington.
Wrote sloppily, and addressed but not stamped, and–even better–with a corny heart doodled next to it.
You were a boldface liar, and Dustin Henderson struck a jackpot.
—
Steve Harrington was a fucking pathetic idiot.
Whichever and whatever vulgar term you wanted to use towards the man was probably it. It fit better than his broken-in and worn-out Nikes that paced pavement below a hill to the Henderson house, a letter addressed to him weighing heavy in his back pocket.
Full honesty, he wasn't sure what he was reading when his eyes paced through the page. I mean, hell—it was dated from around middle school, and well, you two hadn't spoken much since then. To Steve's full fault, as he's realizing now. Even more so, Steve wasn't sure why he was even here, pacing back and forth with his hair tussled from running his fingers across his temple thrice per minute.
Why would you send this? It was from so long ago, and yeah, Steve was lonely enough that even a naive middle school love confession made his heart lurch from his chest. It was still nothing but that. A silly love confession from middle school, before anyone even had a grasp on what love actually felt like.
(yet, it felt like you hit the mark pretty close for being 13)
Steve Harrington slapped himself on the cheek to bring himself back down to reality, or maybe as punishment.
Because, of course, Steve-The Hair-Harrington, previously self-centered playboy turned lonely fallen angel babysitter, would only bring himself to speak to you when it meant to reconfirm that anyone could actually care for him.
One leg after another with high knees, Steve waltzes up your driveway and straight to the door, following a frantic knock. His leg bounced with anxiety. God, what the hell was he fucking doing? He can save himself, pretend he never received it, turn around, and spare the–
Steve heard the heavy footsteps towards the front door, and he knew that wouldn't work. Fuck.
Pleasebeyoupleasebyoupleasebeyou
The door swung open, and Steve hadn't realized how much his chest had been heaving. Yet, once Steve had to drop his chin to greet a curly-haired and gummy-smiled kid, he finally felt like he could catch his breath.
“Hey, Henderson!” Steve greeted, trying to sound as cheery as he possibly could. And not second to a panic attack. He may have sold it too far.
“Sup, looking for my sister?”
Steve smiled, brain in autopilot, “Yeah—wait, how do you know that?”
Dustin shrugged his shoulders, playing innocent, but he always had such a bad poker face. Steve thought about prying, but decided to take it as a gift to hopefully not get questioned back by a 15-year-old on why exactly he was looking for you.
“Do ya—do you know where she might be? She home?” Steve asked, looking over Dustin's tiny shoulder into the living room.
“I think she left for the diner across town. The new one. She just left, you can probably catch up to her.” Dustin said.
“Across town!–"Steve cut himself off, lowering his voice. “Thank you, Dustin. Thank you.”
Steve gave Dustin a friendly pat on his shoulder before turning heel and barreling down your driveway and straight to his car, keys fumbling in hand.
—
“Thank you, Pat,” you say warmly, grabbing the glass of pink goodness from her aging hands. A golden wedding band adorned her ring finger.
“How have you been, sweets? Any new news in my favorite Henderson's life? Any boys?” she asked you, propping her elbows up to speak to you.
You laugh, “Did Dustin cause that much trouble a few nights ago?”
“I'm teasing!” she waves off, a sweet smile still decorating her face.
“Right,” you giggled, "graduating soon, so that's pretty much it.”
“No boys?”
“No boys.” you grimace.
Pat leaves you be, off to help another customer in need of dairy goodness. You slurp your drink up with ease, kicking your feet as they dangle off the red stool.
No boys. Sigh. When did you get so pathetic? You lived and breathed getting into college and hanging out with your brother now. You were a social plague. Even hanging out with Steve–who arguably had fallen off harder than you had—felt like an impossible task. No boys. No friends. No life.
It's not like you were unhappy; you'd call it content. It didn't matter, though, you'd be off to college soon enough.
You heard the bells wrapped around the front entrance jingle behind you, sipping at your straw some more. Your hips swivel with the stool, body bored and searching for some stimulus. Yeah, you might as well head home soon. You got your sweet release, and time was up.
Except you make the mistake of turning around to check the door first, eyes accidentally landing on a certain someone. Stood in the doorway, eyes wild like he was already looking for you. The way his eyes are locked on you makes you think he definitely was. You wince. At both the idea and the strong, determined stare down coming from one Steve Harrington.
And Steve swears the world stops. After everything he knows now, or he's just searching for something that is realistically probably long gone by now. Grasping at straws like usual. He sees you and thinks of the kiss from 7th grade, a drum in his head while the diner mutes around him
Before he can even take his leap of faith towards you, another voice calls him. And the image of you fades away and is replaced by the feeling of a jerk on his shoulder.
Steve sees the lettermen first, then Steve’s last name, which leaves the kids' mouths with a heavy layer of teasing. It makes Steve want to fold himself small, find a hole, and die in it. His eyes were wide and weary, forcing out the best smile he could to not further damage his image. Wow, was he always this shallow?
“Hey, buddy!” Steve says, dragging out a nervous laugh along with his words. “Haven’t seen you in a while?”
Steve didn't actually recognize who he was talking to. He’s a kid, blonde hair, names Chad or Jason, who stayed on the bench for the Hawkins basketball team.
(Steve scoffs like he wasn’t kicked off the team for lack of the right priorities. What his coach said, at least.)
“Could say the same for you, Harrington, it's like seeing a ghost,” the boy laughs as if the statement doesn't hit him heavily in his gut. Right. A ghost.
Steve's too busy to care, though, trying to search for your gaze again without seeming like a total dickhead. No assholery–New Year's resolution. Or something.
“Right, right, you know how finals are.” Steve lies, he hadn't given finals more than a thought until realizing he was gonna flunk them anyway.
Meanwhile, you bite your lip. Trying to keep your head down so that the man with the gravity-defying hair doesn't gravitate towards you. You almost laugh at yourself. Why would he? Just because you're in the same social class, suddenly? He was still King Steve, at least just in his head, no way he'd want to talk to you on a random Monday.
Right?
You look back once more, just to double-check.
A large breath of relief leads you when you notice his back is facing you. Tussled brown hair, that same bomber coat that hugs his waist, tight light wash jeans, papers sticking out of his pockets, and worn down Nikes.
Wait.
What the hell?
You lean forward. Squinting your eyes. From anyone else's perspective, it looks like you're breaking your neck to check out Steve Harrington's ass. No. No, you absolutely recognize that floral envelope peaking out of his pocket. You had picked it up at a gift shop in Minnesota, a family trip, the first one the family took when Dustin had grown conscious enough to be able to remember it.
Leaning farther, almost falling face-first into the tile as you peer closer. Slowly, your brain recognizes the handwriting. The puppy-dog stickers on it. The doodled hearts in glitter pen.
No fucking way.
“Honey?”
You have to grab the sides of the stool in hopes of not toppling over, cold hands grasping onto rusty metal to hold yourself steady. Meanwhile, your mind was spinning, spinning faster than how you felt on the school's roundabout in elementary. Along with the overwhelming feeling of puke stinging your lungs and settling heavily in your stomach.
“Honey? Are you alright?” Pat asks you, eyes wide with concern. Her hand, the ring shining, grasping around your now-empty glass.
“Yes,” you stutter. “Um–”
Your head whips back again, towards him. You feel dizzy. Steve's staring right at you, waving off the kid—quite rudely, might you add—and ending the high school meetup. Turning away, hoping it would make him disappear, or at least remove the memory of whatever information he got from that letter out of his deformed brain. You rustle around in your pocket, pull out a few dollars, and place them on the counter in front of a growingly concerned pat.
“Thank you, see you soon. Uh, keep the change or just put it on my tab.” Your words rush out of your mouth, almost slurring together as you grab your bag and stumble out of your seat.
The very edge of your foot gets caught on the stool's metal footrest, resulting in you positively falling back like a goddamn domino.
Instead of cold diner tile, your back meets a strong forearm. Your eyes dare follow it up and see the mess of hair you were trying to run from. You were going to hurl, and Steve Harrington was going to be your puke victim.
He gazes at you, as if to say hello. No actual words leave his mouth. Steve's eyes are teddy bear brown. You think about the roundabout again. You feel even dizzier, thinking about how Steve was the one usually on the other side of spinning you. Innocent wide smile, high-pitched laughter. When you thought the freckles and moles on his skin looked like constellations, and that was enough reason in your 8-year-old brain to become friends with him.
Huh, must have blocked that out until now.
Goddamn your Adidas shoes, half a size too big that you spent an entire semester saving up for. Stupid. Stupid.
You shoot up before he can speak, not realizing how warm his touch was when it feels like you've gone dead cold the moment your back disconnects. You try not to focus on that thought too long, eyes locked in on the door. Your escape. From shame. Embarrassment. Death, even.
You're already trying to slide past him while you speak, “Sorry, thanks for catching me, I can be such a clutz,” you laugh, to seem like a normal and totally functioning human, but it dies halfway out of your mouth. “I'm late picking up Dustin, see ya!”
Your voice fades out as you walk farther away from Steve and towards the door. Steve was frozen and utterly stunned in place, soles of his feet practically glued to the floor. Like a lost and confused child in the middle of a store, adorably clueless.
“But Dustin's at the house though–” Steve attempted to yell out, but the words faded to nothing when your figure was already gone from his sight and the door's bell ringing in his ear.
Steve got pretty comfortable with things hitting him so far in the chest that he doesn't know how to think anymore. But that was always with beatings or information that led him to believe the world was ending.
Not girls and love letters.
So why in the hell would you send a middle school artifact to him and then almost faceplant trying to avoid talking about it? Was this some sick joke?
Steve drove home, mind dazed and somehow more confused than before his attempt at speaking to you.
—
Dustin sat in a living room chair, petting the family cat like a fucking evil scientist. And you could probably read through the context clues, knowing your brother, if you could think through your oncoming panic attack when you got home.
You missed it when he asked you if anything happened while you were out, because of course, he knew.
And you missed his concerned tone when he asked what was wrong as your heavy breathing grew more evident, followed by a slam of your bedroom door.
But Dustin was your brother; he knew when you'd be okay, and he knew when not to pry.
Yet, Dustin swears that if this is a result of Steve, then he was going to resurrect Dart and sic him on Harrington.
—
Your hands and fingers move quicker than your brain, maybe even quicker than the way your chest rose and fell in anxiety. Throwing countless pieces of clothes and miscellaneous garments over your shoulder, further dirtying your closet that was 4 months overdue for a cleaning. Searching through old boxes of things that had collected dust from better and younger days. Until it landed on one of the many memory boxes.
Being a sentimental bastard has its perks and downs; you could look back on the good times. Not ever being able to let go of it, even if the very same memories and moments plagued you at night, made you yearn, made you cry. It was all the same, and you'd never be able to stomach throwing anything away.
You think you could stomach it now, after seeing it somehow materialize in Steve's grasp. Knowing he read something he was never meant to see, even you knew that the second you signed it in middle school. Everyone journals differently, for fuck sakes—it wasn’t even stamped!
Finding every love-sick letter besides his, feeling utterly defeated and beyond confused. Your hands still find some old photos. It's a photo of Nancy's 14th birthday party. You, Nance, Barbara, and Carol. All lined up with toothy grins over a sparkling birthday cake. Before the plague of high school took them, and death.
Another Polaroid from when you were 9. The Harrington household had an inground pool, and Steve convinced his parents to have a party for your birthday at his house, since it was summer and all you wanted to do was swim. Steve had his arm slung around your shoulder and long, brown, and soaking wet hair stuck to his forehead. You were both adorably innocent back then, still best friends. You remember your mom taking that photo; you were oh-so reluctant, but Steve had to pull you in with a camera-ready smile before you could even think.
You hadn't even realized your breathing had fallen back into a steady, normal pace.
It was just you in your closet, surrounded by memories now, and the world suddenly didn't exist outside of it.
Until a knock at the door.
You waited a few moments, hoping that Dustin or your mom would grab it. Too sentimental to function at the moment. No footsteps yet. You think, It's Monday. Right. Moms at work. Still, Dustin can get it.
A beat. More knocking.
No footsteps.
“God damnit,” you lazily put the photos and old memorabilia down, vowing to tidy up later. Pulling yourself to your feet and brushing your pants off of any dust, socks sliding across the carpet to the front door.
You unhook the latch with no thought, pulling the door open. Immediately almost met with a knock to the face, the suddenly all too familiar face mid-attempt at a third knock.
Steve smiles, like he didn't drive you to an anxiety fit moments before this.
(and had also unintentionally calmed you down from it as well.)
And he barely gets a “hey” past those pretty lips before you could slam the door in his face.
Steve Harrington had been nothing but a complete asshole the last few years; you had enough reason to be the same towards him now and hope he could at least commit to how he started high school and finish it by completely forgetting you exist in his world.
—
Steve reread your letter 4 more times that night.
Although you might not have even meant for him to see this, Steve's entire world was being held together within those lines.
He just needed to know if it was real.
—
You made tea under the dim light of the kitchen stove; it was close to 1 am now. Mesmerized by the liquid swirling in your cup. Hot metal held between your fingertips as the teabag bobbed up and down.
You heard footsteps behind you, cursing to yourself if it was mom. She worries too much, and if she knew you were up this late, you know she'd have a million and one questions ready to throw at you.
Except it was just your brother with tussled curls and old pjs on.
“Why are you still up?” you nod at him, sipping at your cup. The liquid was hot, burning your tongue. You let it hurt. It goes down smoothly after that.
“Working on a new campaign,” he responds.
“You should get to bed soon, it's getting late, bubs.” You motion to the ticking clock.
12:51
“It's spring break,” Dustin says plainly.
You scoff, offering him a piece of your elderly sibling's advice. “Trust me, wait till summer. Your sleep schedule will be all messed up right when it's time to go back.”
Dustin snorts at your response, padding over to the fridge to grab a midnight snack. A beat of comfortable silence between you two. Not noticing Dustin's eyes glancing over to you, scanning, reading.
“So….” he drags out, “I saw Steve's car here earlier, did he need me?”
You freeze, knuckling white around your mug. If you spend any time in the school gym, it might have cracked under your grasp.
Pursing your lips, shaking your head. Almost to convince yourself of some lie. “No, no, just um, I dropped my wallet at the diner today, and Steve came across it so he was just dropping it off.”
Dustin didn't like this new trend of his sister lying to him. Which, to be fair, Dustin's calling the kettle black here. Not like he's said it out loud yet, or like you've asked.
“Oh, okay,” he says, pretending to be convinced. “Like I told you, kinder.”
You just hum, “right,” and take another go at sipping your tea.
“I'm gonna head to bed, you too,” you finish.
“Hey, do you think you can pick me up from Mike's house tomorrow?” Dustin asks you, just above a whisper.
You fake thinking about it for a moment, “maybe.”
Dustin shoots you his best ‘puppy dog in the rain’ look.
You crack. A smile tugging at your lip, “Sure thing, as long as you go to bed. Like, now.”
“Aye, aye.” Dustin salutes and marches down the hall to his bedroom before you.
—
You’d only made it halfway through your Golden Girls episode before the ring of your house's landline interrupted you, one custody call from the Wheeler household.
You prided yourself on being a good older sister, a cool and calm older sister. You have and always will do anything for Dustin, especially if it means keeping your mom's stress levels down enough so she doesn’t suffer from a stroke.
But for fuck sake, you’re missing your girls right now.
Tapping your foot on the front porch of the Wheelers’ household, checking your watch over once more. Has it only been 8 minutes? Felt closer to 20 since Karen told you that Dustin would be up in a moment.
Honestly, you contemplated sitting in your car. Your legs were starting to sway from just standing here. Waiting. That little shit, maybe you should just leave. He can walk home.
The screech of tires makes you turn around to catch sight of a familiar Beamer.
Was your life a joke? Honestly? Had god not gotten enough laughs from you yet?
Dustin could walk.
You almost tripped over yourself racing down the steps of the Wheeler entryway, b-lining to your car.
Steve called out your name, you ignored it, hoping that would make it go away. Disappear from your line of sight the same way that the letter did from your closet. Then you heard your name again. Damn.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” He asked, fastly approaching you.
“Picking up Dustin. What are you doing besides stalking me?” You respond, not looking at him. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.
“What?” Steve asks, “Dustin just called me to pick him up.”
Your hands that previously stayed busy fumbling with your car keys froze still. Eyebrows furrowed tight, your mind raced. Slowly, you turned to look at Steve, and he looked dead serious. You swallowed hard, “Dustin called you?”
“Uh, yeah.” He responds like it’s obvious. And you don’t appreciate the attitude.
Steve's eyes watch you; they flicker up and down. “And uh, hey, can we talk?”
You fake a smile, praying Dustin walks out those doors soon. “What would we ever need to talk about?”
“What you sent me.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about, Harrington.” You replied, crossing your arms and pressing your back against your car door.
That’s it. Play innocent until he thinks he’s crazy. Easy enough.
Then Steve’s hands slip behind him, tugging an envelope out of his back pocket and showing it off to you like you hadn’t been panicking about it the past few days.
Play it cool, Henderson. Dustin didn’t get his horrible poker face from you.
“You didn’t send me this?” Steve squints at you. He flipped the paper over with just his pointer and index finger.
“No.”
“You sure?”
You scoff, “Yes, I'm sure, Harrington. Why on earth would I send you a love letter?”
A beat.
“I didn’t say it was a love letter.”
Steve stares you down for too many seconds.
“You know what? You can take Dustin home, thank you.” You say, a way of bidding Steve goodbye. An end to this conversation before it even really started. You hope he gets the memo when you open your car door.
But Steve Harrington has always been a little dense. Maybe it was all the beatings he’s gone through.
“I just want to know if it’s real.”
You laugh. You let out a real, god-honest laugh. Looking at Steve, up and down, and once more again. His shoulders are more tense these days, hair longer and more unruly. No self-absorbed swagger. His crown fell, and Steve showed it on his face. Yet, you can’t help but laugh.
“Was it real?” You echo, “Steve, it was from middle school, I don’t know you anymore.”
“No, no, no.” Steve starts, “You did. If you meant anything in this, you knew me. You still do.”
This was too amusing; you couldn’t contain the laughter. This was ridiculous. Steve Harrington had gone downright insane. You point at him square in the chest, “You are a stranger. You come to my house to pick my brother up for whatever you two do, which I’m thankful you’ve been so nice to him, but I do not know you anymore, Steve Harrington.”
Stranger and his full name, laced with venom, in the same sentence—coming from you felt worse than any punch he’s received. And that’s saying something. He blinks once, twice. In a daze, in disbelief. He wasn’t even sure anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Steve starts with his plea of apology.
“Oh my god.” You groan, ready to make another attempt to get in your driver's seat.
“No, I’m serious. I’m sorry. I’m really, really, fucking sorry.” Steve lightly hits your car with every apology to emphasize his point. If he dents your car, you swear to god you’d be sending him a bill. “I’ve been an asshole. I am an asshole. I’m sorry, I’m trying.”
“Asshole? Woooow.” You mock, eye rolling.
“I know! I know, okay? It’s bad, I know.”
You scoff, “bad? Do you even know what bad is? Really? Bad is pretending I don’t exist for the past 3 years and then stalking me around town after you found some old letter I wrote when I had a silly crush on you. And for what? To reconfirm this insecurity in your black hole of a heart that someone actually could like you? That bad? Has the loneliness gotten to you so much that all you can do is hang out with middle schoolers and pathetically reconnect with your childhood best friend you left behind for the soulless popular club?”
Yep. Much worse than any punch.
Steve swallowed down any pride he had left in him. Nodding, “yeah, you still know me.”
“Pretty on the mark?”
Steve just nods, his eyes don’t falter from your face despite it all. And you hadn't noticed how close he’d gotten, hand planted on the roof of your car, inches from your body. His face is only a few more inches from your face.
(a few meters away from behind a window, that’s in front of a curtain, barely drawn to catch your interaction with Steve. Mike says, “Do you think they’re gonna kiss?”
“No, I’ve never seen her look angrier.” Will corrects.
And the four pairs of eyes were still focused on the interaction.)
“I honestly thought I was sparing you, but I see that I’m just an asshole,” Steve says, pushing off your car and away from you. The air around you felt different, your brain too frazzled to put a word to it.
“Sparing me?” You quip, “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Steve stood a few feet away, looking defeated, the letter still in his grasp. “You care. You do the right thing. You see the beauty in everyone, you— you,” Steve laughs. Mostly at himself. “You are the beauty that you see in people.”
“I couldn’t swallow the idea that—“ Steve had given up, he’s shooting himself in the foot right now. “The fact that all that would get washed away if you started to follow me down the social path I chose. It just wasn’t you.”
By the end of the sentence, you were left stunned, mouth agape and speechless. By then, Steve had walked himself backwards to his car by then. “I’m sorry.”
The same way he showed up, he was gone. In only a moment.
You want to think that it’s not that deep. It’s just the high school social scene, the real world was a lot scarier. You avoided it, and it sucked, but you knew it wasn’t the end of the world. You could comfortably swallow all the hurt that came your way and live on.
But Steve. Something shook him up badly. High School had lifted him up and then knocked him down as quickly as a freight train. It’s done some damage that you couldn’t even perceive yet.
You didn’t realize your lip quiver slightly. Did Steve Harrington really care back then? Did he still actually see you? Did it all just get covered up by disposable girls, basketball, nights out, and bad grades? Was the boy who made you understand the very concept of caring and seeing beauty in people not completely lost to the facade?
The slightest movement in the corner of your eye made you whip your head over and back to reality.
For a split second, you saw a few teenage boys head dunk behind a window.
Your jaw clenched, “DUSTIN, GET IN THE CAR!”
The swing of the front door couldn’t have come quicker.
—
On the drive home, Dustin’s eyes bounced from yours to the road every millisecond. Your foot seemed planted on the gas and unrelenting, and for the fact he’s never seen you this worked up.
With one leg bouncing in anxiety. He was ready to tuck and roll at and any moment.
-
It truly annoyed you to realize that your entire break had turned into a lesson in history. That no matter what, it was going to chase you down until the very last night in this cursed town.
You had come from Mike’s house, barely holding onto your sanity, going back to your closet with little dignity, and finally putting all your photos up. Shoved away in a box to be put into a corner to be forgotten about. You hoped Steve could do the same.
A few days had passed now, and you were determined to spend the rest of the week in peace before school came back, followed by exams, followed by college, followed by internships. At least it was anything but drama.
Out of sight. Out of mind. You thought.
To which Dustin learned pretty quickly. Bless his heart, he had tried to bring up the interaction—to poke, to prod. He asked about it, why you were so bothered and what had happened. He knew the answer to some of it; the guilt crept up on the kid, and he could barely face you.
Dustin had locked himself in his room to avoid you and the truth that he knew. No Golden Girls. No ice cream. It hurt. Everything felt like it was crumbling. You just couldn’t focus on connecting the dots, yet.
“My love, since my car is in the shop today, do you mind if I drive yours to work today, or will you have other plans?” Your sweet mother asks you, getting her things rounded up to leave for work.
You had at least an entire box of popsicles and 3 more films to tear into today. “Might want to ask Dustin before me, since I’ve been his cab everywhere since break.”
She gathered her work bag in front of her, a few feet from the door. She smiled at you, “I’m sure he’ll be alright, he can always bike or get a ride from Steve.” She pauses, “You know, he’s been so sweet to Dusty recently, it really warms my heart.”
You want to groan, scream into a pillow, throw your Diet Coke at the television screen.
“Yep, well, have a good day at work.” You cut the conversation off quickly. Hopefully, you won't have to dwell on him anymore, as you had promised yourself.
“Okay, sweetie, stay out of trouble.” She mentions before she’s out the door, with a click of a lock, and you’re slumping back down on the couch. Wishing you could just become one with the cushions, as far as you can, as far away from this reality as possible.
A straight-haired feline jumps up on your lap suddenly, Tews, the family’s new cat. After Pews had run away around 8 months ago. The name was a little too on the nose, but your mother was grief-stricken and seemed to need an emotional support animal.
Despite Dustin’s love for Pews, he barely even paid attention to Tews. It was weird, but you didn’t ask questions.
You ran your hand across her fur, pursing your lips, “Why does Dustin hate us? Huh?”
She purred in your lap, The Thing flashing on the television in front of you. It was honestly appalling how Dustin was locked in his room right now while you were watching this. Maybe if you find the old Ghostbuster VHS, he’ll come crawling out.
The patter of rain starting to hit the window behind you was peaceful. You remember the weather report saying some light rain was to be expected around this time, not realizing how much of the day you had already wasted.
It didn’t take long for the subtle ambience of rain, along with the mutter of a movie you’ve seen a million times, mixed with a living, breathing, heated blanket resting comfortably on your stomach, for you to doze off in record time in the middle of your living room.
—
A brisk wind blew across your face, rustled through your hair, and you could smell the soft scent of lavender and pine. Your hand grazed up and down the soft grass and flowers that sprang up around you, outlining your body like an angel in the snow. Your eyelashes fluttered open and met with the sun, illuminating the world around you as if it were a brush painting a picture.
You felt the tug of the universe lift your body straight; the grass brushed against your skin like feathers tickling you. You sigh, holding your dress up as you come to stand. One food in front of another as you crept through nature.
Walking slowly and walking forward ahead of you. With an unknown purpose, just drawn towards something. Someone. A smile settles on your face.
Then a figure appeared, tall and broad, cutting through the sun. outlining the body like a halo. Your steps picked up, and your smile widened. With the glare of the light, you couldn't identify your angel's face, but something in you knew, something in you beamed forward. The edges of your gown are dirty in the grass.
Your bodies met like magnets, pushed together by nothing but fate. A large, soft hand cradled your face, and you leaned into it.
“Hey, sweetheart,” the charming voice called out.
“Hey,” you whispered.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the man breathed out. You could feel his breath on your forehead and his hand still caressing your cheek.
“You have?” you questioned, looking up at him.
The sun had moved, faded from his frame, and everything was clear now. You saw the freckles and moles spread across his neck, chin, and cheek. Those gentle eyes, that hair…
You felt hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer, jolting you—
—
You woke up gasping, being aggressively pushed back and forth, rocking your body against the couch. You heard your name, yelled out in a high-pitched and stressed tone. Again. And again.
“Wake up, oh my god—please, wake up!” Dustin cried out, positively waking you up now from your romance novel-esc dream.
“Whoa, whoa! What the hell? What's wrong?” you tried to speak in between Dustin shaking the life out of you, kneeling over your previously sleeping body. You saw the oncoming of tears in his panicked eyes, “Dustin, calm down.”
He breathed big and slow, as you taught him. Yet his chest still heaved like a wild animal. “Tews!” he called out.
“What?” you asked, confused and now panicked. Dustin doesn’t get worked up like this for no reason. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, I don't– I was working on something with, you know, scraps. And I wasn't watching her and uh, um, I don't know! She just started chewing on some old wires, and I don't know for how long, but she's been hacking and shaking, and now she's just not moving!”
“What?” you bolted up, looking around on the couch. She was just here, on your lap, napping. “Where, where is she?”
Dustin bolted up from the cushion, you followed with no thought, and fell to the ground just as fast in front of a limp kitty in the hallway. You placed your hand on her tummy, the rise and fall of her breath was too far in between and too shaky for what's normal.
“I didn't mean to, I just wasn't paying attention. I’m sorry, fuck, shit!” Dustin rambled, obviously scared.
“It's okay, it's okay.”
Think. Think. Think faster. You didn't know shit about animals and couldn't afford to mess this up. Your mom will have a stroke if she comes home to find another cat dead. The emergency vet was across town, you'll just take her there and hope the wait line isn't insane.
“Dustin, go get a blanket and wrap her up. We’ll take her to the vet.” You ordered him, and he stumbled up and towards the living room again.
Wait, shit. Mom took your car. Think. Think.
“Hey, Dustin. I'm gonna run across the street and see if Angela will give us a ride to the vet, okay? She still owes us after I watched her dog that one weekend.” You slipped on your shoes and grabbed the doorknob.
“I can call Steve, he'll be here quickly!”
“No!- I mean, no, Dustin. It's fine, this will be quicker,” you breathed before rushing out of the house and sprinting down the driveway.
You skipped the confines of the sidewalk and used every bit of track training you had, and sprinted down to your neighbor's house and up the driveway. Cut through their grass and straight to the door, twine doorpat under your feet.
Angela was your newest neighbor, late 20s and freshly out of college. She was bright and sweet. Had two huskies who were high maintenance to all hell. You learned that when she came over to ask you to watch them for a day, as her last resort, when her usual dog sitter got sick.
You knocked fast. Nothing. No footsteps. You checked behind your shoulder, somehow missing how her car was gone from the driveway, and there was no eruption of high-pitched barking at the slightest nose. And your knocking was much louder than slight.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” you cursed under your panted breath.
You could ask Mr. Anderson next door? No, no, he was one foot in the grave-elderly. Probably didn't even have his license anymore. Go by bike? No, that wouldn't work either. The vet was on the other side of the town square. You'd never make it in time.
A familiar beamer whipped into your driveway just as you quickly approached your house, and you somehow ran faster uphill. Steve Harrington shot out of his driver's seat with a somehow even more worrisome face than you.
“Where's Dustin? Is everything okay?” he asked, eyebrows knotted together.
“It's Tews, the cat. She ate something.” You explain, “Did he call you?”
“Yeah,” Steve responded, and you both wordlessly ran into the house.
You could feel betrayed by Dustin’s lack of trust in you. The burden of having to see Steve's betrayingly pretty face when that's the one thing you are trying to forget about. But to hell with a grudge right now. No time to feel betrayed when your cat was dying in your hallway.
“Let's go, Henderson. Grab the cat and let’s go.” Steve got the boy's attention and shot up and after him out the front. You tried to ignore the way you saw tears in your brother's eyes, or the empathetic look on Steve's face, like Dustin was his own.
In no time, you were buckled into Steve's passenger seat. Dustin is in the back and cradling Tews in his arms. Steve put the car in gear and drove out and towards the vet like it was his god-given right.
A twang of guilt ran down your spine as you watched Steve, maybe too intently. He rested his elbow on your seat, looking behind him to reverse, facing you instead of forward. Your eye latched onto his jaw, sharp as a knife, you followed the skin down to his open neck and the hem where fabric met golden skin. Following his hands as he grasped around the gears and shifted into drive, the way his fingers grazed across the wheel as he steered on and forward. It sent a chill down your spine to disguise the guilt, you swallowed the feeling until your body digested it, the shame coming back in 10-fold as you remembered your little brother was sobbing over your cat behind you.
“It's gonna be okay, Dustin.” You looked back—anywhere by Steve—trying to reassure him.
“Oh my god,” he cried out. “If mom finds out I killed another cat, she's going to die of an aneurysm."
“Another cat?” you shouted.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Steve’s Adam's apple bob, lips pursed, and eyes wide. He didn't question Dustin, like he didn't have the right to that information. Or maybe he already knew.
“Dustin Henderson, do you know what happened with Mews?”
“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to,” he cried again, a small, sniffled whine left his mouth. It was pathetic and sad; it made your heart ache.
“Maybe, we can interview Dustin about Mews after we get Tews taken care of,” Steve whispered. Testing to see if he was even allowed to speak, or if he was confined to simply a way of transportation.
You wanted to quip back. Yell. Tell him it wasn't his place. That he didn't have the right. But deep down, you knew Steve was right. And he didn’t deserve the aggression after blindly racing here to help.
So you reassured Dustin again, and again, that—yes, tews will be alright, yes, the vet will know what to do. No, she's not gonna die, and mom won't kill you, mom doesn't need to know. It's okay, stop crying.
Steve's eyes switched from the road to Dustin's face in the rearview mirror every second of the way there. Never seeing that kid so tear-filled. Steve had only known Dustin to be strong-willed and braver than ever, but he was cracking. And crashing hard.
And as Steve heard you whisper kind and reassuring words to the kid, he understood where Dustin got it from, the bravery and kindness. You were holding together the boy who was falling apart in his back seat.
Steve whipped and served into the emergency side of Hawkins Veterinary Hospital with the same ease he used to flirt with. Perfectly parked in the front, already coaching Dustin out of the back and into the entrance. Dustin almost tripped over himself twice, not letting his eyes leave the heaving cat in his arms, Steve's gentle hand on his back guiding him past the doors.
You guessed that pet accidents were slow this spring afternoon, a tech took the cat from Dustin’s hands swiftly. He had explained what had happened again to the young lady, in between speals of—imsorryimsorryididntknow—that made you want to cry.
Dustin sat next to Steve in the waiting room. It was Harrington's turn to calm the boy down while you paced back and forth.
After a few minutes of Steve calming your brother down, “Hey, I’m gonna go use the bathroom, I'll be right back.” Dustin sniffled, eyes a little red from his tears.
You gently grabbed his shoulder before he could make it past you, eyes locked on his reading. You said, “You okay?”
Dustin just nodded, and you decided to believe him.
—
It was silent for a while. Not the type that took your breath away, made you squirm in your seat. You sat comfortably, close to Steve. Closer than you would have imagined after the past few days.
Steve swears he could hear a pin drop in this empty room, cut through the energy with a knife, and anxiety crept up his limbs as he bounced his heel on the floor.
You noticed, you always noticed. Steve waited; he knew now was probably the worst time to bring it up. Despite the fact that he told himself he was going to try everything to make it up to you, to get you to see this all the way, he did. You had plagued his mind so much the past few days, he forgot what it was like to miss you until now, and it ached his chest as bad as a heart attack.
He looked over at you again, waiting. Open. He made sure you felt it.
And of course you did.
Barely above a whisper, “I'm sorry.”
“What?” Steve laughed, a breathy and surprised laugh. Gently, he said. “Why are you sorry?”
You swallowed a knot of pride, “I was harsh to you a few days ago, I know you– at least I did. I used a lot of deep stuff against you when I shouldn't have. We all have flaws, and I shouldn't have laid you out like that.”
“I deserved it, really. I needed to hear it.” Steve tries to keep it lighthearted.
You silently agree, unable to look at him.
“I’m sorry for letting us grow so far apart in high school,” he confessed, authenticity bled through his words in a way that didn't in the Wheelers' driveway. And it hit you hard in the chest. “I’ve been an asshole.”
“Honestly,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair and finally looking at him. “I’m not even that bothered anymore. I got over it years ago. I managed to survive high school.”
“You still have until May.” Steve points out, and it drags a smile and laugh from your chest. Steve watches you, feeling warm, like he finally hit the mark—did something right for once.
“Right, how will I ever get through finals without a Harrington by my side?” You mock. It’s lighthearted, no jab, no venom. Steve's shoulders feel lighter, and his laugh comes out easy. It feels so easy.
Despite the doom of finals, he can’t seem to find a real care for that while you sat next to him.
“I’m going to flunk finals so badly.” Steve sighs.
“Really?” Your head turns to him.
“I’m falling off. Hard.” Steve’s thumb and pointer finger pinched the upper bone of his nose. The stress of the future or the fluorescent lights of the veterinary office was getting to his head. “My relationships, school, sports… and now my dad won’t even let me work for him despite promising me that like… my entire life? It’s just a huge mess.”
“Glad to know I’m your last resort, Harrington.” You slap his shoulder lightly.
He looks at you with a semblance of a smile, almost cheeky if Steve would let it. Shaking his head, a grown-out curl falling closer to his face, “You know it’s not like that.”
“I know. I’m giving you a hard time.” You sigh, and the tension in the room thickens again. “Despite it all, I hope you do know that I’d always be there for you when it came down to it.”
“Thank you,” Steve responds, barely above a whisper, unsure if he deserves the grace from you. Everything lay heavy in his head, and suddenly he threw out his thoughts–breathless and rushed– because he knew if he didn't say it now, he'd swallow the words and choke. “Why did it all fall apart?”
You smacked your lips, “High school happened, and you and Nance got swept up by the popular kid.”
“It wasn’t just that, though. I meant what I said yesterday… You know?” You nodded, Steve continued. “But I didn’t think I’d lose you, like completely. It felt like you pulled away more than anything. What happened?”
You have to look away, think back to those first few months when the world suddenly felt bigger than you could imagine. Back when you couldn’t comprehend the idea of losing friends and how frustrating it could feel. How quickly you were to jump ship and let yourself drown.
But then you feel Steve looking at you. Leaning in and open for whatever you'd give, he takes any of it. No matter if it hurt or stung. Steve hadn't known much else recently.
“When we were kids, when we met, I felt like we clicked. I saw you, and you saw me as much as we could at that age, and you know, I thought that was it. You and me. Before I even knew what girlfriend–boyfriends were. Because it wasn’t that, it was just us, and that's all I wanted.” You let out a shaky breath. “Then later on, Nancy started to look at you differently… and so did you. Which wasn't what bothered me, it's just that— neither of you even spared me any looks, I felt like I wasn't even part of the equation anymore. So I took the hint and just let it happen, let everyone grow apart. Let us grow apart.”
Steve stared at you, mouth agape and eyebrows scrunched. A small breath left him, Steve felt his chest rattling, his mouth dry to the bone.
“It was all a mistake,” Steve admits.
“What?”
“Nancy and I. Letting Tommy and everyone else on that shitty basketball team take over me like a plague. Until a year ago, I couldn't even recognize myself.”
You shake your head, “No, you and Nance love each other. I saw that.”
“Nancy doesn't love me,” Steve says, and it comes out so easily for the first time. Slowly, he realized those things don't hold the weight they did just a short while ago.
“Do you?”
He pauses, Steve thinks about lying, like he's been doing since she broke up with him. Looking at you, god, Steve could never lie to you even if he wanted to.
A croak leaves his mouth, and he hesitates. A face of pure visible disappointment paints your expression. Steve says, “No.”
And he doesn’t believe he's lying this time.
You nod, choosing to believe Steve.
—
Steve watches over your shoulder in worry when you and Dustin stand up at the front desk, talking with the veterinarian. Dustin's shoulder finally relaxes when the sight of Tews, eyes open and with steady breaths, looking up at him through a carrier you just purchased.
Thankfully, after some X-rays and coaxing the cat through regurgitating some wires and plastic—she was ready to go home. Tews was put on some medication so she can get the rest of any foreign objects out of her system by the end of the week. The younger boy's smile was back in full swing, and somehow Steve's world felt a little brighter.
Dustin scooped the carrier in his arms; he looked so small carrying it. Steve couldn't help but laugh a little, “Hey, let’s go put Tews in the car while your sis gets the paperwork filled out.”
Dustin nods, turning heel to the exit with Steve. Your heart leaps out of your chest watching them walk away. Once Steve throws a look past his shoulder and straight to you, you smile with little to no control left in your body. Letting the grin tug at your lips.
“Your boyfriend is really sweet. The way he looks at you is adorable,” the middle-aged vet tech says, watching your face and the way you check off different boxes and sign your name with the clipboard in your hand.
“Oh, he's not my boyfriend,” you say.
She gives you a knowing look, “Does he know that?”
“Uh,” you look back at the exit, watching a blur of Steve trying to safely strap down the cat's carrier into his beamer. Although you know Dustin will be holding onto her like his life depends on it, the entire way home.
You don’t answer her question, just finish signing your name and paying for Tew's medication. You thank the vets and workers, spinning on your heels to the exit.
Steve meets you halfway, holding the door open for you, slightly breathless from jogging from the car to you. “There you are, all ready?”
“Yep,” you nod and make your way to the car side by side with the brown eyed man.
—
The drive back was short and comfortable; the afternoon had started to darken, and the world around you grew into hues of dark blues and purple. Indiana springs were sweet and forgiving, the season taught you to breathe easier.
Dustin had fully reeled in from his emotional distress and worry, looking up at the sky before shyly asking Steve to drive him to Mike's house. Steve happened to be in a particularly happy (and maternal) mood, and said yes. At least it gave him less of the drive home to overthink himself into a black hole.
But once you gave Steve a short, half-hearted goodbye—the suddenness of parting with him, you with a cat carrier in hand, walking through your front door, made his heart ache slightly. Interrupted by Dustin’s persistent voice, asking him to just get to driving already.
Steve pulled out of the driveway, frustrated. The air was clear between you two, but what now? Did he just forget about everything he knows now? Just chalk it up to middle school silliness?
Dustin cleared his throat. And no, not in a genuine way. In a i-need-your-attention-way, because there's an elephant in the back seat way.
“What is it, Henderson?” Steve barked, flinching at his own tone once the words left his mouth. Even Dustin caught the sudden aggression.
“I’m glad you and my sister made up.” He said, smiling out the window.
“What?”
Dustin finally spared Steve a glance, “You guys are like, good now. You know?”
Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean by good?”
“Like, good.”
“Were we not good?”
“Well, not talking.” Dustin defended, “I mean, she pretended like she didn’t know you a week ago, and then I found out you used to date so…”
“She did what? Wait, did she tell you we used to date?”
Steve felt senile. With a child in his passenger seat, giving him information that just kept throwing him for a loop until his surroundings felt dizzy. Steve felt all too sensitive. Unguarded.
“I mean, she kinda made it seem like you didn’t know who she was—but obviously I knew that was wrong because you stare at her like—“
“Did she tell you we used to date?” Steve interrupts, his voice stern and clear. His fingers shook around the steering wheel, his body buzzed. What were you doing to him? Steve was ready to die on a line for this information.
“Well, she didn’t say…”
“Then who did?” Steve continued to interrogate the boy. He knew how Hawkins liked to talk.
Dustin couldn’t come up with a lie quick enough, “No one, I could kinda assume?”
That threw Steve for even a bigger loop, “What?”
“When I found the letter, I could kind of assume.”
Steve had not shown Dustin the letter, he realizes. And he couldn’t think of a time from when it showed up in his mailbox to where it still weighed heavily in his glovebox that Dustin would have seen it.
“When did you read that?” Steve asked, almost scared at this point.
“Before I sent it to you.” The words left Dustin’s mouth quicker than he could think, and he hadn’t even realized it until the dash of Steve Beamer almost hit him in the face from the way Steve slammed on his brakes.
The wheels screeched. Steve was the safest driver Dustin knew, and this was more out of character than Steve deciding on using a different mousse (which was also due to his recent realization his life was spiraling out of control and he needed to be able to have a sense of control on something—even if it's the hair.)
It was deafeningly silent in the car; a tension thicker than mud settled.
Steve was staring at the street in front of him, he had only stopped a few houses in front of the Wheelers' household.
Dustin tried not to think about the ways his sister was going to murder him once she found out.
Slowly, words finally left Steve’s mouth, “You... what?”
Dustin couldn’t speak, his throat gone dry, and his voice betrayed him. He couldn’t even move his head enough to make eye contact with Steve.
“I sent you… her letter.” He finally muttered out.
“Why would you do that!” Steve finally yelled.
“I don’t know!”
Steve scoffed, “You’re going to have to give me a better answer than that, Henderson.”
“I really don’t!” Dustin squeaked out, a half lie. “She’s been so lonely recently, and I’m always with you, and anytime you’re around her, or I bring her up, you just sigh all sad like you missed her or something! Then I saw that letter in one of her old picture boxes. It made sense, and I just had to do it.”
“No!” Steve felt like he was going hysterical, “uh, no, ya’ didn’t.”
“But I thought I’d be nice if you guys made up! Then we could all hang out, and it would be fun, and enjoyable for everyone, and...”
The words failed, and Steve just sat next to him, shaking his head like some disappointed father when the guilt finally crept up Dustin’s neck.
“I’m sorry.”
“You gotta say that to her, not me. I mean, come on, man. That was her privacy, and you completely invaded it! That stuff she wrote was very personal, and I shouldn’t have even seen it.”
“But, I bet you’re glad you did.” Dustin tried to fight back a grin.
“Not the point!” Steve reminded him.
“But still you guys can be like…” Dustin raised his eyebrows at Steve, like it was supposed to mean something. A stupid, cheeky, out-of-place smile growing. “You know!”
Steve’s face dropped, “Get out, I’m serious. You can walk the rest of the way.”
“What?”
“Out!” Steve unlocked Dustin's door.
Dustin finally parted from his seat and sent Steve one more glare before slamming the door and starting to walk down the suburban street. Steve flinched, muttering under his breath, “That little shithead.” Before rolling down the window of his car, “careful!”
Dustin didn’t look back, just kept walking ahead.
-
Steve’s grip on the steering wheel tightened before hitting it a few times in frustration. God, how can he be so stupid? You didn’t even want him to see that stupid letter. None of what you wrote—you meant. Honestly, how could you ever? After the way he treated you. The person you had affections for was gone and changed.
He looked at his wild eyes in his rear-view mirror; it was dark, late in the night. Steve was close to spiraling into a hole. What is he even supposed to do now? Waltz back into your house, confessing feelings for you 4 years too late, makes him look more like an idiot. It’s what he deserved.
Shaking, nervous palms rubbed at his eyes. Steve Harrington was fighting Demodogs and watching his life fall apart under his hands months ago, just wishing that the rift of his universe wasn’t going to crack and he’d live to see another day. Now he’s stressing about his social reputation and what his longest best friend, if he can even call you that, would think of him.
Steve’s car was still parked and running in front of some random family's house, close to having an anxiety attack. But by god, if he didn’t do something, if he didn’t just move soon, he was going to give up on it all. Never step foot back in the Henderson house and forget everything. Maybe that’s what you wanted. Steve will just learn to unread every word you scribbled down so many years ago.
But Steve Harrington was one selfish bastard. Something he’s trying so hard to beat out of himself, and sometimes he doesn't know who to back down from a losing fight. Selfish and prideful.
His fingers reached over to his glove box, clicking the latch and seeing the floral envelope. Snatching it faster than lightning and turning on his overhead light, just as his hands settled back down in front of him. Paper in hand, fingers smoothing the edges again.
Steve took a deep breath, flipping the envelope open and pulling the paper out. He had to remind himself exactly what he was about to embarrass himself over.
Steve Harrington,
It’s close to midnight now, which means it’s been a full day into the new year. Which means another year of you in my life, and I can’t comprehend how thankful I am for such. My earliest memory is spotting you on the playground when we were kids. Something in the universe shifted, and I grew conscious when I decided I wanted you in my life, and you reciprocated. If I knew last year, I’d be at a party with you, even daring to let you kiss me, I would have called bullshit. I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I don’t know if I’ll get to keep you at my side even in a new light, get to cherish your gaze, and let you in like you’ve slowly done for years now.
I see you, Steve Harrington. You care more than the average human, you see the beauty in everything and everyone you meet, because that’s all you know how to do. I’ve learned to read between your words, to see past any facade that your new sporty friends like Johnny or Chris have started to build for you. My life started when we met because you’ve all I’ve ever needed, and I don’t want to imagine a life without it. So, I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, whether you kissed me just so you’d have a New Year's kiss, or if it meant something. I don’t care, as long as I can trust that you’ll be here for me when I need you, as you’ve always been. I’ll take you, Steve Harrington, in any way I can. I’d rather be rejected, shot down any idea of a romance with you, than lose you. So I’m here, arms wide and open and ready to take whatever inch you’ll give me. To have you in my life is to have a life of beauty and to have someone who cares. I see the love in the world when I look at you. I saw it in the beginning, and pray I’ll see it out to the end. If you don’t want me, I will play pretend, I will wait. I will love you however you will let me. Because I’ve loved you since the beginning, and I doubt it will ever go away now. You have left a mark on my soul throughout our friendship that will never change.
Your name was scribbled after ‘from your best friend’, which felt way too out of place. Steve's hands clutched the paper, guilty to have even reread it again, knowing what he knows now. Steve made quick work of folding the paper back into its proper place and setting it in his passenger seat, so carefully you’d think he was handling glass.
The car's gear shifted back into drive, and Steve performed a pretty impressive U-turn for his emotional distressed state and raced back to where he came from.
Steve's spiraling brain morphed into a similar thought of yours, overwhelmed by the feeling of losing you. Yet, he already had, and it was all his fault. When Steve had chosen popularity over you, when all you wanted was to have him to turn to at the end of the day. When nothing mattered, and it was just you and him.
Steve knew he was out of his damn mind, or he was thinking the straightest he had thought in years. Either way, his actions were his. His heart was beating quicker than how he sped to your home, raced up your annoyingly uphill driveway, and may have knocked on your door hard enough that someone would assume you were getting swatted down. The humiliation ritual continues.
Steve couldn’t think anymore, his brain was just yelling at him to do. Everything went incredibly slow as he tasted the copper in his mouth from biting back for so long.
Then you opened the door, and he held his composure together with the weak strings of what dignity he had left. You looked surprised when you opened the door, even relieved, if Steve’s mind would allow him the assumption. A slight purse in your brows, wide-eyed and focused on him.
“Steve? Wh-why are you here?” You asked, a head peering behind him for Dustin or searching for a reason for Steve to be collapsing into himself on your doorstep. Once your eyes met the envelope in his hands, you knew, and almost joined Steve in his mental disruption. Your face fell, “Oh, that.”
“Yeah,” Steve whispered, realizing now he should have rehearsed this. Thought literally any aspect of this more than just—drive, go. “Listen, I—“
“You know, you can just throw it out.”
Steve almost broke. It truly was nothing to you. Jesus, this was so embarrassing. How he had made these words god in his mind for them to mean nothing. Steve swallowed hard.
“I was… gonna give it back. It wasn’t mine to find.” Steve says, tasting blood, holding back how he came across it. That wasn’t his confession to make. Steve held it out for you, an offer. “I shouldn’t have even read it, I’m sorry.”
You almost laugh, grabbing the paper from his hands. “Steve, it’s okay.”
Somewhere deep inside him, that string broke, breathing heavy—“no.” Steve said.
“What? No?” You spoke gently, more than he deserved. Full of confusion, slight regret that you'd swallow down later, “seriously, it’s fine—“
“I can’t just forget that, I can’t unread it, I can’t fucking throw it out. I don’t give a damn if you wrote that when you were 14. Did you mean it?”
You froze at the sudden confrontation, barely holding your breath under Steve’s more than intense gaze. A croak left your throat, unprepared and caught off guard.
“If you didn’t—at least now, if you truly don’t feel a single thing you did back then. Tell me. Tell me now before I humiliate myself more. But please, please, I need you. Take me back in any way you can stomach.”
“Steve…”
“I don’t know how I ended up where I am, but it was my biggest regret not having you with me. I’ve been so blind.” Steve takes a small step forward, closer to you. Testing the waters with you. He was on the brink of a sob, “just say something. Spare me or tell me you still want me.”
You were far gone, too speechless and shocked to speak. The scenario you thought of a million times at night in bed or in the halls at school when you’d search for him. It was for real now, playing out in front of you like a car crash. You thought about what you’d say to him, or how you’d feel over a million times. You practically studied for this.
Steve breathed your names, like it was the oxygen keeping him alive. He buzzed in front of you whilst your knees felt like buckling. “Please, ya gotta say something. I’m begging.”
Your brain still gave you nothing, just the memory of Tina’s New Year’s party. When it was still just you and him.
When Steve expertly asked you to help him find the extra snacks that he knew her parents kept in the pantry, stalling long enough until you were elbows deep in a pantry of snacks to sneak you a kiss. As you heard the cheers of the new year from your classmates downstairs, Steve flashed you that smile once he found the unopened box of boppers he was looking for. Swearing up and down, he had just gotten the two things he needed to head into the new year: sweets and a kiss.
“Goddamnit it, Steve Harrington.” You cursed, it came out closer to a prayer before your hands grasped his jacket collar and did the one thing your brain could come up with.
You kissed him like it was your destiny, some god given right that you had to complete before death. Steve burned against you, like white heat on your skin. Only making you dizzy. Yet once his palms connect to your jaw, his fingers rake your scalp behind your ears. You fell in sync, kissing each other with a starved desperation only years of distance could have made.
Your body screamed, not even realizing how badly you needed and missed him until Steve was in your grasp.
You parted, breathless. You didn’t need to speak for Steve to understand your response, still—you nodded. And that was enough for him now. You stepped back into your house, pulling him in with you. Steve complied like a soldier. Steve understood now that the house could be on fire and he’d still walk in with no complaint.
Steve kissed you again, kissed you through the living room, and to your room he used to know the decor by memory. What followed after was a play of muscle memory, Steve tested how much he remembered.
How many feet your bed stood from your door, where he let you guide him down on. The plush under him versus the burning coming from your skin. Hot and vulnerable, open and welcoming him. A return to home, his hands searched your skin. Rubbing up your waist, back, and shoulders. Kissing you to cause a bruise, to keep the memories, and share the taste of Pennie’s again on his tongue.
He had to memorize the feeling of you against him, for all the years he could have had you.
“Steve,” you pulled back, just before you were going to find comfort in his lap. “I’ve wanted just you since I could remember, I thought I forgot what that felt like—to want. But, I couldn’t forget you even if I tried.”
“I’ve always loved you,” Steve confessed if it were the easiest thing to leave his mouth. Smooth like a rehearsed flirt. More true than a prayer.
And it brought you to your knees, “fuck, Steve. I never stopped.”
“Please, don’t.” Steve gasped, it was a question disguised as a want.
And you’ve always seen through him. You knew Steve Harrington's entire being, every inch of his soul, like it was second nature. Despite all the years in between. You brought your knees to your bed, hovering over him as you trapped him under you.
Steve’s shoulder slumped like a blanket of weights had been lifted, released after years of waiting. Replaced by the weight of you on top of him, finding your place. You kissed him again, more intensely. Full of want. Full of need.
“I love you,” Steve whispered against your lips, a vibration down your throat that made you warm. So impossibly warm.
You shifted your hips down, Steve almost cried. Hands latching themselves to your waist, digging into your skin. Steve's nose tickled your cheek as he angled himself further, he needed to be closer. As much as you’d let him. And you were ready to lay it all out for him, you were ruined, absolutely no escaping Steve Harrington anymore.
You didn’t care if it was this room, this piece of shit town, anywhere in the world. You knew this was it. You and him. You were choosing Steve Harrington like a promise.
Large hands pulling you down onto him, feeling him beneath you. Steve loved you, and this was the evidence. Your hands found his shoulder, his back, and neck, pushing your fingers through his hair. Keeping him as close to you without suffocating, even then, that would be heaven.
Steve kissed down your jaw, keeping you steady on his lap. Letting you push down onto him, letting you take him how you pleased. You hummed in pleasure, and Steve felt it on his lips as he kept pecking you down your throat.
Finally finding solace in the crook of your neck, the smell of you possesses him. Digging his fingers into your hips, covered by the fabric of your sweatpants. He needed your closer, just so he could convince himself this was real.
Steve nipped and kissed at your neck, speaking against your skin, halfway to a cry. “I’m sorry, I’m never letting you go, this is it: I’m not leaving you.”
Spoken like a prayer. A promise to you. You pushed his head up to kiss his lips once more, accepting him fully into your life, your arms. Whatever he wanted.
Behind you, a whisper of a knock was left ignored—right before you and Steve jolted at the sudden creak of your door hinges. Someone is calling out your name softly.
“Can we talk? I really need to tell—WOAH, HOLY SHIT,” Dustin screamed, eyes wide at the sight of his sister straddling Steve Harrington. “Oh my god, holy fuck—“
“Dustin!” You screeched, reaching over Steve and accidentally giving him a face full of your chest. Grabbing a throw pillow and promptly chucking it at your brother, “Get out!”
The pillow hit your door before hitting him, shoving him out of your space, and at least getting his eyes off the scene before him. Steve tried to stifle a laugh, but he couldn’t help letting his mind begin to think about how cute you looked right now. Frustrated and on top of him.
“I-I thought you were staying at Mike’s?” You stutter.
“Yeah, but I came back here to apologize to you!” Dustin yelled from the other side of your door, voice high-pitched and full of embarrassment.
“For what?” Your eyebrows furrow together, twisting your body away from Steve to face the door.
A moment a silence. The faint sound of a heavy breath from Dustin behind the wood, “I gave Steve your letter. I snooped in your room and found it. I left it in his mail box on Saturday.”
You froze. Slowly turning back to Steve, looking down at him—eye bulging out of your face, he even swears he saw your left lid twitch slightly.
Quietly, you ask, “Did you know about this?”
“Uh, he told me about 20 minutes ago, estimated.”
(Steve actually has zero idea how long ago, feeling like hours had passed since kissing you. Yet, he still ached for more.)
“I’m gonna kill him. I’m going to murder my baby brother.” You whisper, stating like a fact, springing off Steve's lap. Setting off into a sprint before grabbing the pillow you just threw, a choice of weapon for the assault.
Steve felt like laughing, crying. He loved you still, and you never stopped either. Then the hard screech of Dustin and the even harder smack of pillow hitting a body, and Steve was scrambling up even quicker.
Rounding a corner to stop the oncoming assault between siblings, desperately trying to grasp at your waist or tear the throw pillow from your hands. “Whoa, okay, guys! Jesus! Let’s be nice! Good things came from this, okay? Let’s remember that!”
Steve smiled, despite the chaos. He was ready for this, he always had been. Wanting. Needing. Sometimes he just needed a reminder of something he always knew.