Work Text:
I can run but I can’t hide
From my family line
Watching Steve play guitar was starting to become one of your favourite pastimes.
Over two months ago, your boyfriend had randomly decided to learn how to play guitar. You’re not sure where it had come from but you had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with Eddie Munson.
And so, he sat on your bed idly strumming the guitar he had brought over—his fingers dancing around the strings and chords. You watched him, unable to stop the smile from tugging at your lips.
Steve notices—because of course he does—his ears turning a little red but he doesn’t stop. Just looks back at you with a gentle expression and big brown eyes as he continues the gentle playing of the guitar.
Falling in love with Steve Harrington wasn’t something you had intended to do. It had just happened. You had gone to meet Will at the arcade to walk him home and Steve had been there too, apparently to pick up Dustin. He offered to take you and Will home—you had insisted you would be fine but Steve wouldn’t take no for an answer.
It became a weekly thing after that—you’d turn up at the arcade to meet Will and Steve would already be there waiting in his beloved beamer.
You started showing up earlier so you could spend more time with him—so you could sit in his car a little longer and talk without the presence of Will or Dustin there to butt in. Then, one day he suggested you two go into the arcade together.
You hadn’t realised it was anything special until much later. Until Steve eventually admitted that he had given Will and Dustin twenty dollars to play Dig Dug for the entire evening. Paid them a further fifteen dollars to not interrupt as you two played foosball. Steve had let you win. You had smiled and told him not to go easy on you. But you still won. You figured he was just terrible at the game but really he just liked the delighted look on your face every time you scored a goal.
And later—he had made a tactical choice to drop Dustin off first. Will seemed to sense what was happening before you did, thanking Steve for the lift and racing inside before Steve had pulled up the handbrake. It was quiet then—until Steve broke the silence by asking you out. On a real date. That Saturday. The “yes” slipped from out of mouth before you could second guess it.
Seven months later, you were still wondering what you had done to deserve a guy like Steve. Even Jonathan was starting to like him.
“Steve!” Your mom called from the living room, pulling you out of your thoughts about your boyfriend strumming the guitar in his lap. “Could you help us with the—”
Your mom doesn’t even have to finish her sentence before Steve is setting the guitar aside and getting up from your bed. “Coming Mrs Byers! I’ll be right out.”
“I told you to call me Joyce—”
Steve smiles at your mom’s comment before he bends down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back. She probably needs help with TV again.”
You smile before your eyes dart to the guitar.
“Can I have a go while you’re gone?” You ask as Steve walks towards your bedroom door.
“Sure thing,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah?”
You nod as you pick up the guitar carefully. Steve smiles fondly at the sight before he leaves your bedroom to go help your mom.
You look down at the guitar in your lap and try to recall what you had seen Steve doing. Try to copy his movements. Find the chords on the neck of the guitar but it was a lot more fiddly than Steve had made it look.
But you tried anyway, a look of utmost concentration on your face. It sounded awful. You stopped, pausing to try and tune the guitar by twisting one of the turning pegs. You kept strumming to see if it sounded any better when—
One of the strings suddenly snaps. The noise—the whip of the string makes you jump. Your eyes widen as a feeling of dread settles in your gut.
“No, no, no—”
Deep down, you knew Steve likely wouldn’t care. The logical side of you knew that. He had mentioned the strings being a little rusty only a few days ago.
But the side of you that was raised by Lonnie Byers? Well, it had taken the wheel and was making breathing suddenly difficult.
You remember being five years old. Maybe younger. That age before Will was born when you ran wild while Jonathan followed quietly. You had been playing dress up, your mom letting you borrow one of Lonnie’s suits which you forced Jonathan into the blazer of. You wore the tie like a bandana and demanded Jonathan walk the plank. Pushed Jonathan into the small inflatable pool outside just as your dad had come home from work. You hadn’t known that it was your dad’s best suit. You hadn’t known how much it had cost.
All you knew is how angry he got when it was soaking wet and covered in dirt from a day of playing.
Growing up, you had learnt how to tiptoe around Lonnie. How not to ruin things or break things that belonged to him. It happened anyway—you were a kid, of course you broke things from time to time. And while your mom reassured you it was fine, kissed your head and told you not to worry—you knew the argument that broke out that evening was because of you. Because you had been careless enough to break something.
Even now—years after Lonnie had moved out and stopped sending birthday cards—you felt the need to be careful. To not break things. To not be careless with things that weren’t yours.
And so, the snap of that guitar string awoke something in you.
You felt the tears before they began to fall. Felt the burn in your lungs and tightness in your chest. Your hands shaking as you tried to fix the mistake that—in the moment—felt irreparable.
Your eyes, still burning with tears, flickered around your room for something that would fix this. You briefly wondered whether glue would work or even a copper wire. Anything that could fix what you had broken. But just as you set the guitar down onto the bed and let out a shuddering breath, your bedroom door opens.
“Think you need a new aerial for the TV,” he tells you, kicking the door shut behind him before he walks over to his jacket slung over your desk chair, rummaging for his car keys. “I’m just going to head to the hardware store to get one before your mom misses an episode of Cheers if you want to come with—”
He stops, finally looking up when he hears a small sniffle. And when he sees you—perched on the edge of your bed with tears falling down your face, he feels his chest tighten.
“Honey—what’s wrong?” He asks you gently, big brown eyes searching your face for an answer.
“I b-broke it,” you sob out, sniffing as you look up at him—tears falling down your cheeks and suddenly feeling five years old again and scared Lonnie was about to yell at you.
Steve looks at you for a moment, perplexed but then his eyes move to the guitar on the bed—to the single broken string and understanding begins to spread over his face. Steve knew you well enough to know why you were upset about breaking something of his and fuck—he wished he could take it all away. Every yell, every fight, every punishment. Wished he could find Lonnie Byers and make him sorry for making you scared to make mistakes.
“Baby, it’s just a guitar string,” Steve says gently, stepping in front of you before he sinks down to his knees. Hands finding your shaking ones and bringing them to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “It was going to break at some point. Don’t worry about it, I can replace it.”
“But I—”
“Hey, hey,” Steve hushes you with a kiss to each palm this time. The action makes you look down at him—his eyes full of love and patience. Two things you had never seen your father look at you with. “Don’t you apologise for breaking something that you didn’t mean to. You don’t need to do that. Especially not with me. I can replace it. It’s you who I can’t replace.”
Your heart thumps in your chest. Steve’s sweet words like honey. Your nose twitches as you try not to smile.
Steve notices—the way he notices everything you do—and smiles as he reaches up with one hand to wipe away your tears. Hating the fact that they had even fallen in the first place.
“Don’t worry about it, really,” he tells you in a voice so soft that you couldn’t help but feel the weight in your chest lift. Just a little. Your breathing slowing as you blink away tears. “You don’t have to be scared to break anything of mine. Unless you break my heart. Then I might have a problem.”
The comment makes you laugh. A wet laugh that makes Steve beam as though it was his favourite sound in the world. As though he had won a million dollars, climbed the tallest mountain or ran a marathon. Your laugh as precious as gold.
”C’mon,” he murmurs with a small smile, standing up as you sniffle and wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your cardigan. “Let’s get this aerial for your mom and then we can go to that bakery you like and get the biggest cinnamon bun that we can find.”
You nod, allowing Steve to pull you to your feet where he wiped away your remaining tears with gentle hands.
”Can we get extra icing with the cinnamon bun?” You ask him quietly.
”Baby, we can get whatever you want,” he tells you—leaning in to brush his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. One that said he was sorry for what you had experienced in the past. One that promised your future would be better. That broken guitar strings meant nothing to him when it came to you. He pulled away from the kiss to smile down at you. “I‘ll buy you a year’s supply of icing if it makes you happy.”
”You’re ridiculous, Steve Harrington,” you tell him with a smile that made him feel a million things at once.
”Ridiculously in love with you, Byers,” he says, leaning back in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Now c’mon, we have a cinnamon bun with our names on it.”