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She’s freezing. All of her clothes are soaked, even her hair, which has been slightly protected by the hood of her jacket. The water has already slipped through her shorts, into her shoes, drowning her socks. Don’t let her start on the contents of her bag. The book she has been carrying around for the past few weeks is most likely ruined.
She has been waiting for four hours. Four hours for Steve to pick her up. She checks her watch, but the numbers are unreadable due to the raindrops falling on the glass display; she keeps wiping it clean, but the raindrops reappear after a few seconds.
She’s mad. Beyond mad. The first hour was fine; she was reading her book, but by the second hour, the rain had started dripping from the clouds, and by the third, it was a full-on thunderstorm. What lovely weather at the beginning of March, 1987, in Hawkins, Indiana.
She can already feel the sickness creeping up in her lungs. Her throat hurts, and she can feel the migraine burying itself deep behind her forehead and eyes that will probably last for the rest of the week.
And what is even Steve Harrington doing? They made sure his schedule was clear, and he made sure that he would be able to pick her up right after her bus arrives, so where is he? It’s Sunday, everything is closed, she has no way of finding shelter, and she didn’t even bring an umbrella. Maybe that’s actually her fault and not Steve’s
Then she hears a car in the distance, and she starts hoping. The familiar sight of the Beemer at the end of the road appears, with the speed of light, and she almost jumps up and runs towards it in happiness, but doesn’t in the end. The car parks in the middle of the road, and she sits, still staring at it.
And Steve definitely knows he won’t hear the end of this for at least a month or two. When she doesn’t move an inch of her body, he pulls down the window of the passenger seat and yells, “Get in!” She does get up then, makes her way to the car, and sits in the passenger seat where a towel is already laid out on the cushion. She slams the door and drops her bag in the back.
“I’m so sorry, you have no idea, but something came up, and I’m so sorry.” Steve rambles, a constant train of thought never stopping. She doesn’t say a word, just stares ahead of the road through the window. “I really am, I’ll do whatever you want, I’m so sorry.”
He doesn’t even realize he’s speeding. They are in her street in less than five minutes. When he parks in front of the sidewalk, she fishes out her bag from the back, unlocks her seatbelt, and gets out of the car without a word. Steve is scared for his entire life.
She can hear the car stopping, his door closing as well, and she can hear him trying to catch up with her. She unlocks the front door and thanks God that her mom isn’t home. Because she’d be worse, she’d murder Steve on the spot. Steve is apologizing still when she rips the wet jacket off her body, kicks her shoes off, and heads for the stairs. He follows her through her bedroom door and claims his spot on the edge of the bed, head in hands, still muttering endless “sorry-s”.
She takes off her socks and shorts in front of him without shame, grabs a towel and her pyjamas from the wardrobe, and slams the bathroom door behind her.
And Steve is staring at the white door in disbelief. He’s sure she’s never going to forgive him for this and slaps himself mentally. He was stupid for letting Dustin drag him to the video store to pick up movies for the movie night the next day. It was supposed to be a quick detour on his day off, letting Robin deal with the morning show on her own for once, but he completely lost track of time and realizes that it might have been the worst mistake of his life. Because knowing her, she’d forgive him in an instant in any other case, but not unless it was because of his own damn stupidity.
He hears the shower running, and after what feels like forever, she reemerges in her pyjama shorts, hair half-dried, and what hurts Steve the most is that she’s wearing one of his shirts. She goes around him, avoids him, gets under her blanket, and turns away from him. Steve turns to her, though, and continues with his speech. He can feel her shiver under the duvet, even though he is not near her, and after a while, he hears a small whisper, “I’m cold.”
He jumps at that, body and mouth reacting before his brain could, and he slides next to her and wraps his arms around her. She doesn’t oblige. The nickname comes out before he can think twice, even though they are not dating, they are not in a relationship, and Steve is sure they’ll never be, not after this. “I know, baby, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault.”
She freezes at hearing the nickname, and Steve considers jumping out of the window.
The thing is, they have long crossed the line between best friends forever and whatever this is, just in four months. The thing is, when they were four, Steve has decided to come into her life, make a home for himself in it, and never leave. And she has never complained. Not a day in her life, because she loves him, she knows that, as her best friend. And she might be able to learn to love him as something else, too, but she’d be too terrified to throw away more than fifteen years of friendship.
Steve must have noticed how still she went in his arms, because the next thing she knows, Steve lets her go, and she can tell by the way the bed creaks, he sits up. She tries to glance at him. His head is in his hands, elbows on knees. He runs his fingers through his hair in a nervous movement.
Then, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, “I’m… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
She doesn’t reply at all.
He gets up suddenly, almost falling face-first into the carpet while doing so. “You know what? I’ll go, I’ll let you sleep. Okay? I…”
It’s dumb that she hasn’t said anything yet. It’s dumb of her, and she knows it. She should have said something along the lines “I didn’t mind”, but she didn’t. And this time, she feels like she is the one who messed up.
By the time she turns around, Steve has left the room.
The next time they meet at the movie night, the air is charged with something. Steve feels like running out of the Wheelers’ house every time his gaze falls on her. The distance he accidentally put between them is making him nauseous. It’s different, it’s sudden, something that has barely happened in their friendship over the years; it’s putting him on edge.
What’s even weirder for him is that he wasn’t greeted with a long hug from her when he arrived; no, she was already sitting in an armchair by the time he stepped into the living room. Will sat in the one next to her, and the two of them engaged in a conversation.
Nancy greeted him at the door, though, which should have made Steve feel a little better, but somehow, he couldn’t care now. Which he found weird. After all this time, his eyes didn’t light up when Nancy stepped into his frame. Somehow, her smile wasn’t the one he wanted to see.
The movie began. No one was really watching; everybody talked over A Nightmare on Elm Street. Dustin was frantically explaining something to Lucas that Steve tried to listen to but didn’t really catch his attention. Robin, Jonathan, and Nancy were talking as well, and at some point, Jonathan got up to get some more popcorn from the kitchen. In the corner of the room, Mike has joined Will’s and her conversation.
For a moment, for the first time in years, Steve felt out of place.
In the middle of the movie, the phone rang. Nancy picked it up and announced that their parents will be arriving home soon, so the movie night must come to a halt. Steve was a little relieved because this gave him an opportunity: he could offer to ride her home. Maybe he should have come up with a speech to apologize.
Everyone begins gathering their belongings. Jonathan helps Nancy collect all the blankets and pillows from the floor, while Robin and Lucas gather the empty snack bowls and bring them to the kitchen. Will, Mike, and she sit still though, still talking about something that Steve’s curious to find out what it could be. Robin has disappeared somewhere else; he has no idea where. Dustin doesn’t even bother to get up and help the others; he just sits on the sofa next to Steve, suddenly interested in the movie.
Then, everyone begins leaving. The kids go for their bikes; Robin stays behind to talk with Jonathan and Nancy for a while. Steve doesn’t question. That leaves the two of them. She puts on her jacket, gets her bag from the living room, and stands on the porch for a minute, watching everybody take off, then starts walking.
That’s when Steve’s brain turns back on. He shouts a “Bye!” to Robin, but he’s sure she didn’t hear it. He picks up his pace and races after her. She stops in her steps when she notices Steve, jiggling the keys to his car between his fingers. “I’m taking you home.”
“Why?” She asks. There is no harm behind it, but Steve feels a little hurt by the question. It should be obvious that he is taking her home. It was always obvious that he’d take her home. He just shrugs his shoulders and points towards his car. She agrees.
The ride home is quiet.
On her porch, they stand awkwardly. At first, she struggles to find her keys, but when she does, she unlocks the door in a swift motion. She turns back to Steve. “Do you want to come in?”
Does he want to come in? The answer should be obvious, just like when he offered to ride her home. There shouldn’t have even been a question. Steve would always come in after he had taken her home, sleep over, not only for one day, but for three or more, never leave her side, not even for one moment. Now he stands on the porch. He does want to come in, but he’s just scared that she won’t let him stay longer. And it eats him alive.
He nods. She opens the door further and goes immediately upstairs after taking her shoes off; she doesn’t even wait for Steve. He follows her like a scared puppy. He waits for the bomb to go off. Even though he was over just yesterday, he feels like a stranger in her room after their argument.
Every corner of the light pink-walled room is filled with Steve: sweater on the back of her chair, his backpack by the foot of her bed, unwashed clothes in her laundry basket. He even has his own drawer, his own corner of the room. His favourite vinyl is on the table where the record player is, next to her favourites. Empty cans of his favourite soda in the trash can.
But even after their little fight, Steve feels out of place. The sudden distance between them has taken a toll on him, and he’s not even sure he should be here right now.
They weren’t always like this, no. Back in the day, they were king and queen of Hawkins High, keeping their heads high. Nothing could deflate their happiness, their pride. Now they are quiet, more peaceful, but it’s still weird. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
She sits on the edge of the bed and pats the place next to her, signalling to Steve that he should sit. He obeys. He still wants to apologize for the hundredth time, and this might be his chance.
“So…” he starts. He tries to find the right words, not scare her off. “About yesterday. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” she says. Steve is surprised by her words. He turns his head to look at her, and she’s already looking at him. She’s smiling. “I wasn’t really angry,” she continues. “I was just a little hurt. But seeing you like that, it hurt me more. I didn’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me; I know I’m not your responsibility. I don’t want you to feel like I am.”
“But it’s not like that,” Steve grunts and runs his fingers through his hair. He lets his head rest in his hands. She takes one of his hands and interlinks their fingers. “I do want to take care of you,” he admits. It’s not a confession, but it’s a start. “I was stupid for letting myself be distracted when I promised I would take you home from the bus stop. It’s-“
“Steve,” she says, softly. He looks at her. “It’s okay. Why don’t we grab something to eat and watch a movie?”
“Can I stay afterwards?”
“Always.”
Well into the evening, they lie awake in bed; Steve, on his side, turned over to her, one hand under his head, and she on her back, staring at the ceiling. They didn’t talk much during their dinner or the movie, just kept passing looks at each other. She took a shower after the movie, and now they are here. I Won’t Share You from the newest The Smiths album quietly plays from the record player.
Steve gets an idea in his head. He feels dumb and bold at the same time, but it might be worth it. Or at least he hopes it will be worth it. He hopes she feels the same, or at least something. He slowly lifts his free hand and drapes it over her stomach. She barely reacts, just turns her head towards him by an inch. He raises an eyebrow. If they have unconsciously cuddled before in their sleep, why would this be different?
“Is this okay?” He asks. She nods. After a while, she turns on her side too, lifts an arm, but instead of letting it fall on his pyjama shirt, she picks at the fabric, pulls it upwards, and touches skin. She looks at Steve with curious eyes that are asking: Is this okay?
She is going to be the death of him, Steve thinks. And this is where he gets really bold.
He removes his hand just to replace it a second later, slipping it under her pyjama shirt, urging her to move closer to him. He places his palm between her shoulder blades, exposing way more in the process than he should have. He slowly starts running his fingers up and down her spine, pulling her even closer. He can hear her sigh, one of relief. She draws figures on his ribs.
This is something they have never done before. Of course, they have shared long hugs, slept in the same bed, or cuddled a hundred times before, but this feels heavier. More intimate. Steve looks at her with half-lidded eyes, trying to search for whatever reaction she might give him. Her eyes are half closed, yet he can still see that her pupils are blown wide, mouth slightly agape as Steve caresses her stomach.
He wants more.
Suddenly, her fingers stop dancing on his skin. Steve blinks once, twice, but she moves faster: she removes Steve’s arms from her body, and before he can react, she pushes him into the pillows by his shoulders and straddles him.
This. This is completely new. And Steve isn’t sure what he should do with it. She runs her fingers through her hair and looks at him. Really looks at him. She reaches for the hem of his shirt then, and Steve feels his cheeks burning. He shouldn’t be nervous. But they haven’t even kissed. Before she continues any further, she looks him dead in the eyes. His jaw slightly drops. He has never seen her like this.
“Tell me to stop,” she says. Steve has never shut his mouth so fast in his entire life. Not a word leaves his throat. He gulps, not sure what to expect, but he lets her take control. She tugs at his shirt, then he raises his arms, and she removes the shirt. It ends up somewhere on the other side of the room.
And of course, she has seen him shirtless before, but this is different: this is new, and Steve is nervous. Scared a little. All of his scars are visible; he thinks the hair on his chest is unkept and messy, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her eyes are fixated on the body in front of her. She slowly raises one hand and puts his palm over his heart. Steve is sure she can feel just how fast his heart beats. For her.
He places his hands on her waist to steady her. She dips her head low, brings their foreheads together. Steve’s breath hitches from the sudden closeness. Their breaths mingle, and he closes his eyes for a second. He really wants to kiss her.
“Steve,” she whispers. He opens his eyes. He sees the light in hers. “We don’t say it a lot, but I love you. As a best friend, as anything.”
He doesn’t know what to say. He stares at her dumb dumbfounded. He wants to ask her if she really means it; he wants to ask her a million things. His brain malfunctions completely. He swallows hard, throat dry, words refusing to come out in the correct order. For a second, all he can do is stare at her, chest rising a little too fast under her palm.
“I…” he laughs softly. He might start panicking. Then, he finally finds his voice. “I love you too, a lot. You can’t imagine how much.”
Her expression softens. She leans down just a little more, noses brushing. Steve feels the world has narrowed down to them. He doesn’t dare to move.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then, she presses the faintest kiss to the corner of his lips. It’s barely there, soft, it’s more like she’s testing the waters, but Steve’s skin burns with want. Wanting more, wanting her, wanting anything that has something to do with her. Steve exhales.
Steve laughs again, but it’s strained because he’s nervous. “I want to… Can I-“
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, please.”
That’s when Steve finally breaks. She tastes like the cherry slushie they drank with their dinner and something else, something sweet. It’s careful and soft, ever so slow. It’s not rushed. They part for a moment, just to connect again like they are figuring out how to make it work. Steve lets a shaky breath into the kiss, slipping one hand up her back, spreading his fingers like he’s scared she’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold onto her.
She hums softly against his lips, and that sound sends shivers down Steve’s spine. He tilts his head just to deepen the kiss, just to hear that sound again. Nothing wild, nothing messy, just enough to say that I’m here.
When they finally pull apart, they stay close to each other, foreheads touching, both of them breathing a little too fast.
Steve’s grinning like an idiot.
Steve has never been happier to be in trouble.