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hawkinsindiana · 5 months ago

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*clears throat* heya here's 3.8k worth of some uber upsetting angst featuring unrequited love on the night of your junior prom and you convincing yourself you definitely don't love your best friend steve, written by @stevebabey and myself TWO YEARS AGO >:) enjoy and get your tissues

canon to almost paradise, pre s2

—

when steve called you this morning, he sounded like a hurricane.

a million thoughts were whirling through his mind; almost all of his sentences came out like a frazzled mess, reflecting the torrential downpour outside. but somehow, throughout all the chaos over the phone, he recruited you to help him get ready for tonight.

junior prom. ugh — you roll your eyes just thinking about it. ever since the date was announced, you’ve been dreading it. if steve hadn’t been so worried about getting everything perfect, you’d probably have forgotten about it by now.

well, that’s a lie. you were never going to totally forget about your prom, especially with dozens upon dozens of posters plastered throughout the school. for months now, you’ve been hearing the gossip of who asked who, or who said no. you choose to believe your lack of an invitation is due to steve’s company — not some other answer that’ll make you cripple in self-hatred.

the harrington’s front door is already unlocked, just as steve said it would be. you call out his name as you enter, careful not to snag your skirt on the umbrella before closing the door behind you. there’s a thump upstairs, followed closely by the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching from down the hall.

“thank god, i feel so much better now that you’re— woah.”

steve stops dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs. as he does, your eyes snap up to land on his, which continue to widen the longer he stares.

your dress fits you perfectly. the sleeves are draped off your shoulders, exposing the skin of your décolletage. all of your features are enhanced by the color of chiffon that cascades to your ankles, accentuated by a pair of small heels. you look like something out of a movie.

“what?” you ask as you slip out of your shoes, now hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. steve’s never looked at you like that — nothing even close to that. the butterflies in your stomach flare; it feels like you’re filled with them, as if they’re coming up your throat and will spill out of your mouth any second.

your fingers fly to your hair, gently pinned into an up-do, “is it… it’s too much, yeah?”

“no, just—”

steve blinks a couple times and descends further down the steps when he hears the insecurity in your voice. he clears his throat and grins lightly, “you, uh, you clean up pretty good, henderson.”

it’s embarrassing how wide your smile grows with his words. there’s a part of you that screams to get it together, but his praise feels so unbelievably good you can’t even hear it. you’re not in love with him.

you grab your shoes, “are you insinuating that i don’t try to look nice on a daily basis?”

steve panics as you walk forward to join him on the stairs, your brow furrowed teasingly, “what? no! i’m just— y’know this is the… i’m trying to tell you that you look good, okay? you look good.”

a laugh spills out of you at his nerves and your smile widens once again. you exhale, darting your gaze to the floor as you answer genuinely, “thank you.”

when you bring your eyes back up to land on steve’s boyish relief, you feel the itch to move even closer to him; it doesn’t subside as you resist the urge. if anything, it grows stronger. you don’t want to be too far from him ever again. maybe, if you’re lucky, he feels the same way.

it’s now that you realize what he’s wearing — a pair of his gym shorts and a white tank. his hair is soaked, like he just got out of the shower. he should be at least halfway done by now.

“i was gonna ask how it’s going, but…” you trail off as you gesture to his current state, your tone light, “i’m guessing not well.”

steve speaks gravely, “i’ve washed my hair three times.”

“steve!”

“i can’t get it right!” he pouts and stomps once, which makes you chuckle. god, it’s stupid how easy it is for him to get a laugh out of you. you’re absolutely hopeless. you follow closely behind him as he leads you to the second floor.

steve’s room is far tidier than it usually is, except for the en suite. the counter is covered in a slew of hair care products and appliances, ranging from mousse to gel and everything in between. before you can get a really good look, steve grabs a can of something near the sink and tosses it into a drawer. you scoff lightly, eyes moving quickly between his hand and the bashful expression creeping across his face, “what was that?”

his eyes narrow as he deflects, “none of your beeswax, henderson, alright?”

he moves his hands through the air in an exasperated motion, “just gimme a couple minutes to try this one more time and if that doesn’t work… you’re helping me shave it all off.”

“wow, you’re dramatic when you’re nervous, harrington,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice and toss your bag onto the floor. if he was five years old, you think he’d poke his tongue out at you. with another glare sent your way, steve enters the bathroom and leaves the door slightly ajar, presumably for any errant hairspray fumes.

the pair of you spend the next half hour conversing occasionally through the door, with the rest being spent reading as you wait patiently. it’s an effort to distract yourself from him, but it’s in vain. you smile every time you hear him curse under his breath. sometimes you find your eyes drifting from the page to land on his shadow moving across the floor. the comforter on his bed smells so much like steve it’s unbearable; you wonder what it’s like to sleep beside him, to kiss him awake or run a hand through his hair as he rests. you exhale — it’s pathetic how much your chest aches for him.

“alright, shit— how do i look?”

steve’s voice cracks through your thoughts, forcing your gaze up from the carpet. the way your jaw drops can’t be helped; you nearly shatter a tooth when you snap it back into place as quickly as it fell. this reaction isn’t enough for steve, however. your silence makes him nervous enough to ask again, “well?”

his skin looks incredibly tan against the navy blue of his tuxedo, which of course, is expertly tailored. the extra time he spent on his hair was worth it — he’s quaffed it perfectly. you decide the right words to describe steve’s beauty don’t exist. he’s like something described in the pages of one of your books.

you inhale and nod rapidly, “wow! uh, yeah, really good.”

“the hair? it’s—”

“good! definitely. i think you’ve tamed it,” a laugh titters past your lips as your breath gets caught in your throat. it really is quite unfair how effortlessly he can affect you this way. steve thinks nothing of it, turning around briefly to catch another glimpse of himself in the mirror, fixing a few strands that fell out of place. he sighs, allowing your reassurance to wash over him. you wouldn’t lie.

“sorry for being so pissy before,” steve mutters as he spins to face you again, “there’s a lot of pressure, y’know? i just want it to be good.”

you smile easily, waving off his concern with your hand, “don’t worry about it, steve. it’s fine.”

he nods and sighs once more before returning your smile. he’s so genuine that you think your heart’s gonna get tugged out of your chest one day. you’re not in love with him.

“okay. i think… i have ever— wait. shit,” steve stops his thought abruptly and moves to the stereo on top of his dresser. as he begins rifling through the cassettes, he glances back at you, “i need a song.”

“a song?”

“a slow dance song,” steve clarifies, “got any ideas?”

you swallow down the envy that stains your tongue at the idea, but it’s awfully difficult. the intimate sway that will be with nancy. but you want to be helpful; you want to help him. you bite down on your lip as you think, mentally flipping through your mom’s records. your neck burns at the thought of one in particular — it’s reminded you of the boy in front of you far too many times.

“that one by 10cc, ‘i’m not in love’, maybe?” you offer shyly and begin to bury your face into your book out of embarrassment. could you be more obvious?

“holy shit, i totally forgot about that song. you’re a genius,” steve says as he searches for the tape, jumping at the choice you offer, “i’d barely survive a day without you, i swear.”

you hum a sound of appreciation and feel blood pool in your cheeks out of embarrassment. before you get a chance to focus back on the book in your grasp, the song is drifting through the air of his room, and his hand is outstretched towards you.

the look on your face is pure surprise. you glance between his inviting palm and his face as he looks to you expectantly. steve’s brow furrows at your lack of movement, confusion washing over him, “what, you’re not even gonna help me practice?”

you begin to shake your head as he smirks playfully, “steve, i don’t know if—”

“you scared of me or somethin’?”

you have half the mind to reply no, when the answer is most definitely a yes. steve harrington is standing in front of you in his best suit, just about as handsome as you think he’s ever been, begging you to help him practice slow dancing for his girlfriend. now you kind of feel like you have to throw up.

he wiggles his fingers invitingly, but impatiently like time is gonna run out. he whines, “c’monnnnn—”

“okay, okay!”

you can’t help but laugh as you hesitantly grab your bookmark, placing it into the page before getting up to slip on your heels. steve takes your hand without another second to waste, which only skyrockets your heart rate. his palm is softer than you expected, with the hint of a rough callus on the tips of his fingers from all that time playing sports. he tugs you closer just a bit too suddenly, forcing your shoes to step onto his; steve smiles sheepishly with a slight chuckle, “whoops, sorry.”

when you recover and bring your head up, he’s barely a foot away — your cheeks immediately flush the hottest they’ve ever been. you swallow harshly as you try to speak but there’s quite literally nothing on your mind other than how close his lips are to yours. one quick movement and you could kiss him.

“so… um,” he pauses as he thinks, “how do you, uh, do this exactly?”

you summon the hint of a laugh, lacing your tone with sarcasm as you answer, “do i look like i know?”

you want to stare at him, take in every detail you can — how warm his skin is, how wide his pupils are. you’re afraid you’ll get caught if you do it for too long. you’re not in love with him.

steve shrugs, suddenly a bit embarrassed as well, “i don’t know. i don’t… i don’t really know how to do this either.”

then you stop breathing — he places his hands on your waist, fingers dancing lightly on top of your ribs. he’s made from electricity, sending little shockwaves into your body. steve gestures with his head, a small smile curling his lips, “i’m pretty sure you’re supposed to put your arms ‘round my neck, henderson.”

“oh! right—” you swallow harshly and force yourself to take another step closer. your chest is tight as you do as he says, your palms settling onto his shoulders before your elbows loop around his neck. you’re confident he can feel the tremble in your fingers.

as the pair of you begin to sway gently to the music, it feels like your eyes fuse to steve’s. you swear you fall into some sort of trance, the dreamy synths of the music only making it harder for you to resist. it’s hard to breathe.

“jesus, you’re tense,” steve jokes, “c’mon, loosen up already.”

he tightens his grip on you for a split second, but it’s enough to light your body up like a current. you accidentally step forward onto his toes in shock.

“sorry!” you squeak out, your eyes scrunched in embarrassment and you bow your head to hide your expression. you think that if you’re face to face with steve, he’ll be able to feel the heat of the sun coming from your cheeks. worse, he’ll probably ask why. you continue on, gaze watching your feet carefully.

“i— this is my first time doing this,” you say to try and explain, hoping the conversation will drag steve’s attention from your unusual reactions to his touch. the warmth of his hands on your waist is selfishly committing itself to your memory.

“mine too.”

steve’s sheepish admittance surprises you enough to lift your head, your brows drawn in close. you must look perturbed enough because steve laughs, tilting his head back a fraction and your eyes automatically track down his throat, dancing across each mole and freckle. fuck.

“don’t look so surprised,” he says, with eyes light and a casual smile, “i don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

“oh yeah, because those rumors are definitely about you dancing with girls,” you cut him off with a chuckle and steve goes slightly pink. it comes through in his dancing, stumbling a bit over his feet and your hands slip to properly grasp his shoulders, steadying him. steve goes wide-eyed for a moment, long enough to send a bolt of panic through you, but he takes the chance to grab one of your hands and delicately spin you. there’s a swoop in your stomach with how gentle he is with it, carefully making sure you don’t get dizzy. you’re not in love with him.

“no, this, uh, would be the first… proper dance i’ve had. i’ve done?” he scrunches his nose as he questions his sentence. you cling to his every word, your arms settling back around his shoulders, back into that same trance from before. he hasn’t even danced with nancy yet, you realize longingly, but he’s danced with you. with a surge of love, you understand it’s because he trusts you enough to see him stumble and fail. that trust is enough to quell your envy, smiling up at him sincerely.

“well, nancy is very lucky.”

he doesn’t look as though he entirely believes you, his eyes unsure, “you think?”

“you’re gonna sweep her off her feet, steve.”

steve’s smile grows a bit at your affirmation, feeling the rush of confidence your words give him. it’s reflected in how he shifts one palm to your arm before letting it glide down your skin, settling at your wrist. the amount of goosebumps he leaves in his wake are mortifying, but he doesn’t think anything of it as he takes your hand in his.

the mood in the room grows increasingly intimate as you both grip each other a little tighter while continuing through the bridge of the song. then your thoughts turn selfish once again; there’s nothing more you wish to do than rest your forehead against his and let the music and gentle touches communicate to him how you feel. maybe he could figure it out for himself. maybe you wouldn’t have to tell him. maybe it’d all be okay if you didn’t have to say the words out loud.

are you a bad person if you try to enjoy this like he’s your own? you decide you don’t care.

“think i’m gonna tell her tonight.”

and just like that, the daydream dissipates, the haze wiped from your consciousness with his words. you’re reminded why you’re really here, what you really mean to him at this moment. you’re just the practice. the crack in your heart gets a little deeper, a little wider.

it takes every shred of willpower you have to push away the burning behind your eyes. he’s gonna tell her he loves her tonight, and you’ll be forced to watch. his eyes are hopeful, truly hopeful, for maybe the first time in his life. you wish it was meant for you.

you sigh silently, compelling a smile to spread over your face. as much as you want to, you can’t look away from him. your voice is quiet, gentle, packed with everything on your mind. combined with the look in your eyes, it’s baffling he doesn’t figure it out.

“i think… that sounds like a great idea.”

it’s steve’s turn to sigh. once again, your words are the support he needed to hear.

the next song starts to echo through the room and steve’s hands slip from you as quickly as they had settled on your waist. you don’t think it’s dramatic to say he took a chunk of you with him.

“thanks, henderson,” he says with a wink, words pouring over with his appreciation as you drop your arms back to your sides. then you’re grasping your own biceps, fingers holding tightly onto yourself for support as he moves to the stereo to shut it off.

“now we just gotta find your dance partner. don’t worry, i’m still looking at options,” steve adds as he smooths over the fabric of his suit jacket, “only the best for you.”

right — steve’s promise to find you someone, which has been hilariously unsuccessful so far. he swears there’s no one in hawkins good enough for you; you can think of one person who might be. but you force yourself to smile at his words, although you frankly don’t have the mind to take them in. it’s incredibly endearing how much he cares and yet you still can’t accept it as enough. you feel guilty for wanting more from him, especially considering his heart belongs to another. you're not in love with him.

—

jonathan didn’t want to come to this. it was his mom’s idea; joyce assured her son while rolling him for lint that it’d be a good experience.

“you’ll regret not going in a few years, promise”, she had said to him. but in traditional jonathan byers fashion, he arrived at least an hour late. he’s not a junior, but that doesn’t really matter in a town as small as hawkins — he managed to slip in through one of the exit doors down the hall that the chaperones aren’t watching. the gymnasium floor is coated in glitter and confetti; blue, purple, and white against the wood. it’s a miracle no one’s slipping on it.

a majority of his peers are out on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the ballad that bounces through the room. there are a few stragglers; a group of girlfriends who came together, a few couples more interested in swapping spit than dancing, and then… you.

there’s confetti in your hair, a light dusting of glitter against your up-do. your shoes are placed haphazardly onto the table next to your slouched posture, like you had taken them off in a hurry. your fingers are tightly wound in the fabric of your dress as you stare at something, no, someone. it’s the most dejected look jonathan thinks he’s ever seen — nancy and steve are amongst the crowd slow dancing.

it hits him like a truck. he’s had his suspicions over the last few months, but nothing as clear as this. if you weren’t his friend, he’d probably laugh. but he knows that you think it’s just as ridiculous as he does. maybe it was a good idea that he came here after all.

when jonathan sits down beside you, it takes you a couple of seconds to recognize his presence, too wrapped up in the feeling of steve’s hands on your body now committed to your memory. you were imagining it was you out there with him. when you finally acknowledge jonathan, you try to flash him a smile, but there isn’t much of a change in your expression. the distress is embedded too deep.

jonathan doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. after a few seconds of sitting in silence, the lyrics from the song you had offered steve flowing through the air, you grow puzzled. jonathan’s gotten up, offering his hand to you. normally, you’d flash him a look like ‘you can’t be serious’, something with a curled lip and raised brow. but right now, with how beat down you feel, you don’t have the energy to turn him down.

jonathan’s hands aren’t as soft as steve’s, but they’re gentle as he leads you to the outskirts of the dance floor. he purposefully chooses a corner far from them. subconsciously, your eyes still search for steve in the crowd, peering over his shoulder as jonathan guides your arms to his neck.

“hey,” jonathan says softly, but with just enough conviction to peel your focus over to him. your irises are still sad, still heavy with the weight of the secret you carry, the secret he understands more than anything. he shakes his head, finally placing his hands on you — don’t worry about them right now.

you close your eyes, tugging yourself a little bit closer, and then closer again until you can rest your chin on his shoulder. you try to forget about them, you really really do. you’re able to only spend a few moments focused on jonathan before your eyes open once more in search of him.

you spot him — you hate that your chest swells. then it’s burning. you’ve never been a particularly good mouth reader, but you’d recognize those three words anywhere; you don’t know how many times you’ve imagined steve muttering them to you.

you’ve stopped breathing, eyes intently focused on him to gauge nancy’s reaction. you can’t see her face, but by the way steve’s just lights up, you know what the answer was.

“hey—”

jonathan stumbles a bit when you abruptly shove yourself away. he catches the expression pinched onto your face — pure, gut-wrenching despair as you can fully turn and begin moving to the door. he manages to grasp your wrist before you can get too far, but you try to pull away instantly. broken tone coming from your lips as you hiccup, “just lemme go, jonathan.”

your face is already overflowing with emotion, large tears beginning to track black mascara down over your cheeks. jonathan feels a kick in his chest; he’s never seen you cry before.

“no, just…” he pauses, tightening his grip on you like you’re going to float away if he lets go, “just let me take you home at least.”

you think on it for a moment. the right thing to do would be to tell steve that you’re leaving. but the thought of him makes your body go numb. you’re definitely in love with him.

all you can muster is a nod.

—

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