#🌙 luna my love !! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loveshotzz · 1 year ago

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LUNA!!!!!

Steve Harrington, your beautiful best friend with a big personality and even bigger heart. Steve Harrington, the one that you always wanted, but also the one that never was.

I’m so in love with him that it makes me sick. The flash backs, the yearning, fuck our dad for trying to get in the way of the love of our life. I NEED HIM DESPERATELY.

THIS PART LUNA?! The seven minutes in heaven flash back?!! ugh, i’m yearning harder than ever.

right where you left me;

chapter one: ticket to anywhere

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods. inspired by this edit from @somnambulic-thing.

masterlist | next chapter

——

October, 1990…

——

Everything is wrong.

It hits you, sitting there in front of the vanity mirror, voices swirling about the room full of your girl friends. Your gown, the colors of the bridesmaids dresses, the venue. It’s too lavish, too over the top. Not the small, intimate feel you imagined ever since you were a little girl, friends surrounding you, watching as you married the man of your dreams.

But then again, the groom isn’t who you imagined either. That’s the first of the many issues with this day that jump to your attention.

Clark is fair haired and light eyed. Handsome, in the way that you can tell he spends thousands of dollars on clothing to do so. More acquaintance than the man you always envisioned standing beside you on this day.

This same man, who you found only moments ago seemingly in a passionate argument with one of your bridesmaids. Both of them touching one another in a way that seemed too familiar, like they’d done this dance, had this same conversation at least once before. She begged for him to leave, to get away now, to back out of the marriage. Pleaded with him to consider love, instead of some business endeavor.

Had reached up and kissed him bruisingly, his hands fisted in her gown. The same wrinkled one that stares at you now as your fingers toy with your bouquet, her sad eyes plastered on your face.

You know you should feel something. Anger, betrayal, hurt, resentment — but instead you feel nothing at all. You’re not in love. Haven’t been. Now your mind only buzzes, someone calling your name bringing you to attention, head lifting slightly.

“Are you okay?” they ask, “can I get you anything?”

And it’s two words.

A name, really, that pops into your mind.

“Can you see if Steve Harrington is here yet?”

——

Steve’s not sure what to think when a bridesmaid he barely recognizes — likely because he’s only met them once or twice before — barrels toward him, an intensity in her eyes that has him worrying something has gone wrong.

Everything is wrong, though. Because he’s here, in this ridiculously huge wedding venue, standing in for those in Hawkins who couldn’t make the trip, about to watch as his best friend marries a man who isn’t Steve Harrington.

And as much as it pains him, loving you means doing anything to see you happy — even if it kills him in the end. It’s all he knows, all he has done for as long as you’ve been a friend to him, two wide-eyed eleven-year-olds sitting in some fancy ballroom as you watched your parents parade themselves around like the elite that they deemed themselves to be.

What he doesn’t expect, however, as he’s practically dragged into a room, is to find you standing there pacing back and forth, beautiful as ever and not at all happy for someone who is about to be married.

“Stacy, a moment?” you ask, lifting your head enough that he can see you fully.

You’re absolutely breathtaking, in a way that’s almost cruel, because after today you’ll officially be a wife. After today, he’ll have to accept that his feelings that are not at all platonic toward his best friend he still harbors all these years later can only ever just be that: feelings.

As the door shuts behind Stacy, you rush forward and slam into his chest, and he’s immediately there to wrap his arms around your waist. You’re a vision in a fluffy tulle skirt, the veil on your head brushing against his chin, and it’s then he feels the frantic flutter of your heart against his sternum. It’s then he can feel your fingers curl around the lapels of his suit — can see the flash of tears swimming in your eyes.

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper hoarsely.

Breathlessly.

“What do y —”

“Please…take me away from here. Anywhere, I don’t care. Please,” you beg, and though he has more questions than answers, he dips his head. Because again, he’ll do anything to make you happy.

Even if that includes helping you run from your own wedding.

With a long exhale, Steve steps back a bit, fingers carding through his hair. He moves to the door, head tossed over his shoulder to glance back your way.

“Give me a second,” he says, slipping from the room into the hallway.

There’s no one in the nearby vicinity, this room far enough away from the rest of the guests that escaping shouldn’t be a problem. His eyes catch on the glowing exit symbol in the distance, and he knows his car is a few blocks away, but it’s better than nothing and will have to do.

When he slips back into the room, you’re wiping your hands along your dress, clasping one around his as he extends a palm your way.

He can’t deny the ache in his chest as you take it, the electric jolt that courses through his body, but now isn’t the time. If you’re going to get out without anyone noticing, you’ll have to do so now — and quickly.

“Come on,” he urges, and you’re both off, rushing down the empty hallway unbeknownst to your waiting guests, the world bursting to life in color as the exit doors swing wide open.

——

“Remind me to never run in heels again,” you gasp out, hand tight in Steve’s as you dart through busy city streets, avoiding bodies along the way.

All around, people honk their cars, citizens whistle and congratulate you as you run on by. And you know it’s because you and Steve, for all intents and purposes, look as though you’ve just married. Him in his suit, and you in your poofy wedding gown, the edges now stained a murky soot color.

“And I want this stupid thing off my head right now.”

Steve pauses on the side street as you come to a halt, his chest bumping yours at the abruptness as your fingers reach up to unclasp your veil from your head. Balling it up in your hands, you toss it into the nearby garbage can. Pigeons scurry away in haste, a squirrel skittering away from its hard earned meal.

“How do I look?” you ask, hiking up the edges of your gown as someone nearly trips on it, making their way towards the crosswalk.

“Like a runaway bride.” He laughs, shaking his head. “My car is another block that way. Let’s go.”

He grips your hand again, and you know you really don’t have to hold it, but it brings you comfort all the same. The further you run away from the wedding venue, the more you realize what exactly you’ve done. You’ve run out on your intended husband, on friends, on your family who has spent the money to make it all happen — and everyone will have something to say about it. Word gets around quickly in your social circle.

But it’s a decision for yourself. The first in a long long time.

There’s something so liberating about it — about rushing after Steve as he loops you around other bodies, as he opens the passenger side door for you and helps push your frilly skirts inside, before dropping down into the driver’s seat and shoving his key in the ignition.

And as he turns the key, peeling away from the busy side street, and heads toward the nearest highway, you know it’s the right decision.

——

Neither of you speak for the first half hour driving. The roads are busy, traffic bumper-to-bumper in the city, Steve’s grip a white knuckled one around the steering wheel. There’s also the suddenness in which your reality comes crashing, dress still on your form, the edges sodden around your ankles, the ring on your finger glinting in the slowly setting sun. Every part of this day has done a complete one eighty.

“We’ll probably have to stop in a few hours,” Steve says, a little more to himself, the hum of the radio spilling into the quiet car, “where do we want to go anyway?”

“I still can’t believe you drove all the way here,” you tell him softly, head turning a bit to take him in.

He’s loosened the tie around his neck, his hair is a little unkempt now, the suit jacket long tossed into the backseat. Those bare forearms of his ripple with each turn of the wheel, your eyes dragging along hair-dusted skin. You’ve missed him; more than you ever could realize, his presence a comfort after being surrounded by people who don’t understand you — not really, at least — for so long.

“I wanted to be here,” he says, “I don’t mind driving, you know that.”

You did. You’d spent many nights circling the familiar streets of Hawkins over the span of a few years once you’d both been able to drive. Those same streets that are unfamiliar now, mere memories in your mind. It had been a few years since everything that happened with Vecna, and a few years since you watched your childhood home grow smaller and smaller in your parent’s rear view mirror, Steve along with it, waving from his parent’s driveway.

“And I wanted to see you,” he adds, glancing your way, those hazel eyes bright in the setting sun.

The idea dawns suddenly, lips moving to form the words before you can think otherwise, “Hawkins. Take me to Hawkins with you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, a little hesitantly, weariness seeping into his tone. “It's about…a twelve hour drive. I think we can make it to Ohio before getting some sleep for the night. You’ll just need to direct me with the map.”

You answer with a smile, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out the map, the weathered corners bent like they’d been the last time you’d gone on a road trip with him. After everything had gone to hell at Starcourt, you needed to get away, the two of you taking to the road, a finger swirling around until it landed upon a random state.

It feels like old times, sitting here in the car with him, the windows down, his hair blowing in the wind, and the crisp smell of fall air to greet you.

The drive is quiet for the most part, other than the small exchanges here and there of roads to take, giving him enough time to make sure he’s in the correct lanes and the like.

It dawns on you then how long it’s been since the two of you really talked. Your exchanges throughout the years have been sparse, at best. Always meaningful, but moving twelve hours away has put a strain on your relationship from the get go. Initially you’d aimed for one phone call a week, which had soon turned into once every two weeks, and then down to once a month.

And once Clark had stepped in six months ago, your conversations were even less frequent, and always cut short — Clark never having understood why the two of you were so close.

So you suppose you shouldn’t be too surprised when Steve suddenly asks, “What happened back there?”

“I didn’t want to marry him,” you admit in a whisper, training your gaze ahead at the streets, leaves golden and amber flashing by the passenger side window. “I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him — I never loved him.”

It had been an added blessing that it seemed Clark felt the same, his mouth preoccupied with your friend’s minutes before you made your escape out the back door.

“Then why agree to marry the guy?”

It’s an innocent question, but it has your stomach lurching all the same, your lips parting slightly, heart pounding in your throat. “Steve…your parents are like mine. You know why.”

Because it had been arranged that way, Clark’s path pushed in front of yours, the pressures of your parents and their business ventures breathing down your neck. That and Clark had his own goals, as did you, and marrying would help you achieve them.

It wasn’t like you’d ever love him, either.

Love had only been reserved for one man in your life, and he’d never loved you back.

“So you marry some uptight rich guy to make your parents happy? What about how you feel?” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, voice rising in volume. “And you were going to just go along with it?”

“Stop judging me! It’s not that simple.” His eyes dart to yours, unused to you ever raising your voice at him. “You don’t get it. You gave up that life. I had no choice but to go with them when everything happened the way it did in Hawkins.”

“Yes, because I was tired of feeling like a failure of a son,” he grumbles, carding his fingers through his hair, “tired of being looked at like I was Jonah Harrington’s biggest mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake.” Your fingers reach over the center console, briefly hovering above his bicep before resting there gently, feeling the tension in his form dissolve. “I thought I was doing the right thing for my family. I was trying to buy time and get my inheritance so I could be done with it all eventually. It was stupid, I know. But I’m making this decision right now, running away with you, for myself.”

His hand slides down to grasp yours, bringing the back of your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss there. He’s done it thousands of times over the years, but it has your heart skipping like it does every time, chills dancing along your spine.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, dropping another gentle kiss to your knuckles, “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me too, Steve.”

——

The moon comes out to play, and the two of you stop at a gas station just as Steve’s watch reads eight at night. The place is dilapidated at best. Neon glowing lights flickering along the top of the pump, the numbers worn away by weather, the inside of the building covered in inches of grime.

You’d intended to grab some snacks and water bottles, but the lack of sanitation efforts has you wanting to wait for the next convenience store instead. So as Steve pumps the gas, you lean onto the hood of the car, skirts spanning around your thighs, thanking someone as they pass and comment on how beautiful you look.

“You do look beautiful, you know?” Steve lifts his head, those corded muscles on his forearm drawing your attention once more. Head shaking, you tip your head up, eyes narrowing on his face curiously. “A shame you got all dressed up for that guy though.”

“Shut up,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him, propping your map up on your thighs. “So if my guesses are right, we’ll be getting to Ohio in a little less than three hours. Hopefully the hotels in Powell aren’t full. I’m already pretty tired.”

“If worse comes to worse, we could always sleep in the car —”

“Steve.”

“What?” He raises a hand in surrender, smiling at the angry furrow of your brows. “Wouldn’t be the first time we camped out in the back seat of it.”

“I’d prefer a mattress after the day we both had,” you tell him, folding the map and tucking it beneath your thigh. “We also need to keep an eye out for a store. Pretty sure I saw a cockroach in the gas station, so I’m not trusting anything in there. Plus pork rinds and jerky didn’t exactly sound appealing to me.”

Steve grimaces in agreement, the gas pump clicking, signaling his full tank. He replaces the nozzle on the holder and pushes the flap back into place, snatching the map from your hand as he passes around the front of the vehicle to slide back into the front seat.

You follow suit, shoving your skirts about your thighs, finger toying at a hole in the hem that you must have made while running through the city streets. The realization of thousands of dollars, all for naught, with the lingering fear of your parent’s disappointment swirling in your gut has your stomach churning uncomfortably. But there’s little time to linger on those worries, as Steve slides a finger along your forearm to draw you back to reality, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Look at me,” he demands softly, hazel eyes glowing in the seedy gas station light that flickers above. Lips twitching, you meet his stare, chest warming under the burn of his affection, “there’s that smile I love. Everything is fine.”

There ends up being a small grocery store at the next exit, a little family owned thing, with very few shoppers lingering inside. You offer to go in alone, but Steve insists you’re in another state and he’s not about to leave you by your lonesome. So you end up standing beside him, him all tousled in his dark pants and wrinkled dress shirt, and you in your dress, drawing the attention of curious customers.

“We got lost on our way to the airport for our honeymoon,” Steve tells one person who wanders a little too close for his liking as you grab bags of chips off of a rack, tossing in a jar of salsa for good measure. “Going to stop at that hotel down on Verdant instead. Really want to go above and beyond and treat my wife, you know?”

The one that looked all seedy, like it was practically falling apart, windows broken and covered with wooden slats. The customer eyes the two of you wearily, offering well wishes, sounding a little uncertain as they slowly but surely back away, not wanting to talk any further.

Nothing quells your giggles at that, head pressing into the bag of marshmallows you found, eyes pinched shut to keep your tears at bay. “Steve, they probably think we’re crazy.”

“Speak for yourself, honey,” he chuckles, reaching over to snatch the bag from you, “why do we need these?”

You pluck it back, pouting. “If you must know, they’re for me. I don’t share with guys named Steve who have too many opinions.”

“If we’re getting marshmallows, we need graham crackers and chocolate too,” he points out, reaching over to grab the other two s’mores ingredients from the end cap you’re standing in front of, tossing them into your shopping cart. “For two adults, it looks like we’re buying for a bunch of kids about to enter into a sugar coma.”

“Look — we’ve had a stressful day,” you huff out, pushing the cart further down the aisle, “we’ve earned s’mores and snacks. Plus we need it for the rest of our trip. I saw a coffee shop next door too. I’ll buy it. I feel bad you drove all the way to the city, only to leave again.”

“If I have coffee now, I’ll never fall asleep,” he exhales, shoulder brushing yours as you meander through the aisle, snatching a package of water bottles for the car off a pallet. “I do think we should grab breakfast tomorrow morning. Maybe do a little touristy stop before heading back to Hawkins. What do you think?”

Time alone with Steve? Time you haven’t had in way too long, if you’re being honest with yourself. Even now, standing in the store with him, getting gas with him before that, you realize just how much you’ve missed your best friend. Things like this, so banal and generally uninteresting, have you smiling until your cheeks hurt, brimming to overflow with excitement.

It’s an easy choice, really. “Sounds perfect.”

——

One room. There’s only one room with a single bed left in the whole damn hotel. You suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise, because nothing has really turned out how you anticipated today.

Still, you ask the woman at the front desk again, and she arches a brow in confusion — likely assuming you and Steve are already having marital issues merely hours after you tied the knot. There’s no use explaining it to any more people tonight. For now, you’re a newlywed, and Steve is your doting groom.

“Not like we’ve never shared a bed before.”

Steve’s voice is a low rumble near your ear as you stare at your distorted reflection in the silver wall of the elevator across from you. The thing is you have shared a bed with Steve numerous times over the years. As teenagers, when you often snuck over to Steve’s, after your parents left for business trip after business trip. He’d leave the window unlatched, a hand there to grab you as you scaled his trellis, blankets already pulled back on your side of the bed.

But for some reason this feels different. Hours ago you’d been engaged to another man — hours ago, after you’d caught said man in an affair, you’d only had one thought. And it had been this man standing before you; though then again, it had always been that way.

Steve Harrington, your beautiful best friend with a big personality and even bigger heart. Steve Harrington, the one that you always wanted, but also the one that never was.

With a steely sigh of resignation, you watch as Steve swipes the key card, flicking the light on in the doorway. It’s a simple room, not the upscale hotels you’re accustomed to. There are no lavish furnishings, no glittering chandeliers. Instead you’re met with a dresser and a dilapidated television. Against the back wall is a bed, the linens starchy beneath your fingertips, though you suppose they’ll have to do.

Steve whistles, glancing up at the popcorn ceilings. “Could be worse, right?” It’s an awkward chuckle, his hands reaching down to undo the buttons around his arms, hair on his chest visible a moment later as he unbuttons the top of his dress shirt. “Shit — just realized we don’t have any clothes. Should have stopped somewhere.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, because he’s seen you in nearly every state of undress at this point.

In bathing suits over the summer, sitting atop his bathroom sink in your bra after Billy Hargrove had shoved you particularly hard at the Starcourt mall while under possession, your ribs scraped against the hard ground. And you’d seen him the same, beaten and bloodied after his altercation with Jonathan, after the Russians had taken him for questioning and beaten him to a bloody pulp, after the events with Vecna that had left his skin raw and battered.

Though you suppose this is a little different, as it’s the first time he’s going to be undressing you, despite being under different circumstances than those you dreamed of throughout the years. Fantasies you’ve long pushed aside in the catacombs of your mind, to be filed away as ‘things that’ll never happen since he’s your childhood best friend.’

Your fingers tremble as you turn in front of him, exhaling deeply as you mutter out, “I can’t reach the buttons. Could you…please?”

There’s a sense of awareness that settles over you as he approaches from behind. Broad, battle-calloused hands rest at the nape of your neck, drifting lower where they settle on the endless row of buttons there. His breath prickles along your skin, those nimble fingers of his toying with that first button, his inhale shaky as he undoes another, and then another, and another. With each button, more flesh is revealed, the ghost of his touching a phantom along your spine, the dress starting to sag around your breasts, your hands coming up to cup the gown close to your chest.

Steve’s eyes meet yours in the mirror affixed to the wall in front of you — hazel, and sparkling in the ethereal moonlight that pours through the softly parted curtains, tinged with an emotion you can’t quite put a name to. A deep exhale falls from gently parted lips as his knuckles drag along your spine, a delicate line that stops once he reaches the base, freeing you from the last of the buttons. White tulle drops to the ground beneath you, toes kicking it out of the way, leaving you standing there in a cream nightgown, lace detailing around the edges hugging the sumptuous curves of your breasts.

Steve’s throat bobs, clearly not wholly unaffected by all of this, as he peers at you. Your feet carry you backward toward the bed, legs curling beneath your form as Steve moves to unbutton his own shirt, tossing it haphazardly into the corner once it’s free from his torso. He’s the same and different than you remember. All broad chested, a dusting of hair along his upper body, a line from his naval down beneath the dark pants hugging a pair of toned thighs. Scars line his sides where the demobats had bitten into his flesh, his shredded back a tapestry of markings that catch your eye as he walks around the opposite side of the bed and slips in beside you. You avert your eyes, trying to not draw attention to the fact you’ve been ogling, ignoring that simmering ache low in your belly that forms.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing, only settling down on the mattress and shifting so his thighs brush your hips, his head resting on a pillow as he gazes at your profile.

Rolling onto your side, you reach over and trail your fingers along the forearm he tucks under his head, thumb running gentle stripes along the width of it. “Thanks for saving me today.”

“You know I’ll always be there for you,” he whispers back, reaching over your form to turn off the bedside lamp. “Always.”

——

Stones knock against the bedroom window. Rouse you from bed. Head poking up from your pillow, you wander over to the windowsill, hand covering your heart as Steve’s head appears in the opening, body practically thumping against the floor in his hastiness.

Broad palms settle on your biceps, the backs of your thighs pressing into your mattress as he leads you to sit down, hazel eyes meeting yours. Your fingers reach up to glide over his chest — to feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest.

He’s real.

He’s here.

After worrying for days that something has gotten him too, he’s right here in the flesh.

Alive.

“I saw the news,” you gasp out, swallowing the harsh knot growing in the back of your throat, “Do they really think Eddie Munson did it? Do they really think he killed Chrissy? Fred? Steve, what’s going on? Is it the Upside Down? Let me help you.”

“It’s bad this time. Like — like really bad.” His fingers touch along your temples, poking and prodding, gauging your reaction. Your only reaction, however, is to grip at his wrists, fingers bracelets around his pulse points, head tilting to the side. “Are you in pain anywhere?”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you reassure him, pushing forward to loop your arms around his waist. To push him back against the bed so he can settle down a bit, his thighs against yours. “Your heart is racing. What’s wrong? I’m coming to help next time —”

“You’re not helping this time. Last time was a mistake.”

You’d been driving in the rain one evening back in July and saw Max and El walking on the streets, looking a little dejected, and ended up peering in the window at the Holloway’s when something had gone wrong and demanded the girls tell you what was going on — especially when you were El’s tutor and she usually told you everything. Once you’d found out Steve was missing too, all bets had been off the table for staying out of whatever was bump in the night.

He rolls over onto his side, hand coming up to cup your cheek, smothering your grimace under the softness of his touch. “I can’t…I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to you.”

“Steve.”

Your hand rests over his, eyes boring into his, noting the flush on his cheeks, the glittering lower line of his lashes. Whatever this is, whatever he’s dealing with…the weight is crushing him, and your heart breaks with the immensity it.

His fingers reach over to grasp at your Walkman laying on the bedside table beside your bed. He drops it down onto the mattress between the two of you, a pleading look in those hazel depths.

“Put your favorite song on loop. Keep batteries on you at all times, and keep the headphones nearby until I tell you it’s safe.” Your mouth opens to speak, but he continues, “Please, just trust me. It’s safer for you this way. People are dying.”

“Let me help, Ste —”

“Please,” he begs, dropping his forehead against yours, “just trust me, okay?”

You nod, and in the morning, as you start to feel your body coming to wake, his fingers trace your temple. Like he’s trying to memorize every detail, the calluses on his fingers from years of baseball soothing your soul.

“I love you,” he whispers, like he always does.

I love you, in the way he loves Dustin and Robin or any of the other kids.

I love you, in the way he’s loved you since you were eleven.

I love you, in the way you always tell one another you do.

I love you, in the way he always has, but not in the way you always wished he would.

“I love you,” he says once more, and you slip back into sleep.

——

Went to try and find us some clothes. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Be back soon. - Love, Steve.

With a yawn, you roll over in bed, clutching the note to your chest. It smells like your best friend — that warm vanilla scent with something minty beneath. Comforting and completely him. The space beside you is still warm, the imprint of his body a reminder that he’d even been there at all. Popcorn ceilings meet your field of vision as you flip onto your back, holding aloft your left hand, light coming through the window catching on the glittering diamond there.

“Never thought you were one for a rock that needs an insurance policy,” Steve teases, appearing in the doorway with bags of clothes and other products in hand. “Then again, never thought you’d marry a guy named Clark. What is he, Spider-Man?”

“You mean Superman?”

He shoots a mocking glare your way and settles down beside you on the bed, pulling out various articles of clothing.

“It’s not designer, I hope that’s fine.” You shove at him lightly. He’s gone with a pair of black leggings and a chestnut colored sweater for you, along with a pair of boots that’ll be nice for the fall weather outside. “I eyed the shoe size. Hope they fit.” The shoes are a size too big, but they’ll work, and you laugh as he pulls out a bra and a pair of underwear. His eyes narrow a bit your way, “Just wanted to make sure I covered all the bases. I already got judged enough at the store by the cashier, so do not even go there right now.”

You snicker, tucking the clothes against your chest gratefully. Honestly, nothing sounds better than a new pair of comfortable clothes, ready to be rid of the flimsy dress dancing along your thighs.

“This is perfect,” you tell him honestly. Steve himself went for something similar — a pair of dark blue jeans, a black sweater, and a pair of simple shoes. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” he says, stopping you from reaching for your wallet. “You couldn’t exactly walk around in your dirty wedding dress for another day.”

“Yeah, but you’ve already done too much for me —”

“You’re my best friend. Stop acting like you’re inconveniencing me. I asked for this. Plus we haven’t hung out much in…oh, I don’t know, two or three years? That’s a lot of lost time to make up for.” As your features soften at his words, he adds, “Now hurry up and get dressed. There’s a diner around the block that looks nice enough and I’m starving.”

——

Fifteen.

You’re fifteen and it’s a dare.

Tommy and Carol think it’s funny.

Seven minutes in heaven with Steve Harrington.

The room is silent, all eyes on you. And maybe it’s the cheap liquor stolen from Steve’s parent’s expensive cabinet running through your system, but when Carol points at you and laughs that you won’t do it, you grip Steve by the collar of his shirt and stomp off to the nearby coat closet.

Steve’s breathless behind you, body thumping yours as you both stumble inside and the door is shut. Without hesitation, you tug on the rope chain connected to a single lightbulb and squint as your eyes adjust to the orange glow radiating off Steve’s golden skin, flushed by the summer sun.

“Time is ticking and we don’t hear kissing!” Tommy cackles, though it’s muffled through the wooden door separating you from the rest of Steve’s guests.

The rest of the room dissolves into fits of giggles, drowned out by the harsh thump of your heart pounding in your ears. The light flickers up above, and part of you wonders if it’s the only imperfection in the Harrington home. Something so trivial, and yet it distracts you from this nerve wracking moment, in this closet, with this boy.

“I’ve — I never…” you babble, feeling your chest heat, embarrassment choking off the rest of your words. “So, like, if we…do this…I don’t really know what I’m doing. And I think if I’m going to get it out of the way, I’d want it to be with someone I trust, and there’s no one I trust more than you. So, like, why not, right?”

Steve’s grinning. A goofy little thing that grows as he steps a little closer, one of his palms curling around your hips, toying with the belt loop on your jean shorts. “You want me to kiss you, hmm?”

Steve’s different now. He’s grown in the four years you’ve known him. He’s handsome, not that he hasn’t always been. But there’s more of him now. His chest is broader, his hair is longer, he’s popular now. By default, you are too. None of that has ever mattered; as long as you have him, you’re happy. But it’s at fifteen that you really understand the love you feel for him isn’t wholly platonic. In fact, the older you get, the more time you spend with him…it only solidifies in your heart that whatever his soul is made up of sings to your own.

It’s equal parts surreal and terrifying.

“Hey…hey,” Steve whispers, voice a coo that he only reserves for you, “what’s the pout for?”

“You’re teasing me,” you tell him, tipping your head up a bit, the fire in your eyes clashing with the worry in his, “and I already told you I’m nervous. You only have one first kiss and I —”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I'm being an asshole. Let me start over again, yeah?”

You nod, swallowing thickly as he lifts a hand and cups your cheek. The pad of his thumb runs over your bottom lip, parts you for him gently. Shaky breath skitters along your bottom lip, heart thrashing wildly behind your sternum as he takes another step closer and tilts his head down a bit, the warmth of him permeating your thin tank top when his chest brushes yours.

“It’s just me,” he breathes out, noting your trembling, taking another step closer.

His hips bump yours and linger, all the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. A steady beat of ‘kiss me, kiss me, kiss me’ in time with their wings throbs in your blood.

Steve’s thumb strokes back and forth against your lip, drags it down further as your breath mingles in the middle, as you lean up onto your toes and meet him there, humming into his flesh.

The space between you shrinks and he’s there, warm and gentle against your flesh. You barely have time to register the fact he’s kissing you, because a knock sounds from the other side of the door, signaling your time is up. Both of you jolt apart, a little breathless, your hand coming up to rest against your mouth. He swallows thickly and opens the door, the closet awash in bright light, and though he seems mostly unaffected, a solid realization drops into your gut.

You’ve never loved anyone before, and maybe people will say you’re ‘too young’ to know anything about it, but you know with absolute certainty you love Steve Harrington.

——

Steve’s beaming because you’re glowing. Practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you wander through the park you’d stumbled upon shortly after breakfast, shoes crinkling against fallen leaves as you kick them into the air, glee personified. He wishes he had a camera, if only to capture the way you look right now. You, with your head tipped up to the sky, arms out at your sides, catching the small droplets of rain that began falling only minutes ago on your upturned palms.

He’s already suggested heading back to the car and getting on the road for the remainder of the trip to Hawkins, but the more it rains the happier you seem. As though you’re shedding your old life, a little lighter than you had been hours ago.

He hates that Clark’s ring is still on your finger, especially when he feels the way he does simply looking at you in this moment, but he can only imagine the enormity of the emotions welling in your system. You walked out on your family and your marriage; he knows your family, and knows what consequences might come from your actions.

Maybe you need a moment before popping the bubble and accepting fate? And who is he to hinder your joy? He’d spend every day trying to get you to smile like you are right now, having done so all the years of your friendship, only now it twists his gut tight. A harsh coil, curling around his esophagus, robbing him of his voice and air.

“I love how free and open everything feels here,” you tell him, practically skipping over to his side, shoulder brushing his. “I’ve been in the city so long I forgot what it’s like.”

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s quiet here. Peaceful. For a moment he can pretend you two are the only people in the world. “And soon you’ll be back in Hawkins,” he says, curling an arm around your shoulders, tucking you in close. “Are you excited?”

“A little nervous to see everyone,” you admit, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s been…”

“Almost three years since you visited.”

He’d come to visit you in the city, on weekends where he could get away and book a plane ticket. But even then, he’d only see you for a weekend at a time. Nothing like before, when you’d spend nearly every day with him, and then once Robin joined the picture, she’d become the third part of your trio.

He can’t wait to have the both of you back together in the same state again.

There is so much he already imagines doing, places he wants to show you, things he wants to share with you.

“Everyone misses you, though,” he reassures you, hating the way your features drop when you whirl around to face him, the amber leaves wrinkling around the edges of your shoes. “They’re going to be so excited. Swear.”

“Pinky promise?” You hold out the sad little pinky, eyes leveling with his.

“We haven’t done one of these since we were seventeen when you asked me to teach you how to parallel park and promised to write my science paper if I helped you pass —”

“Yeah, because I failed the road test and was the only one in our class to not pass on the first try. It was embarrassing.” And you’d been miserable about it. Made it everyone’s problem. He’d thought it cute, the way you’d ripped Tommy H to shreds when he said it was okay you failed because Steve could always chauffeur you around, and you’d flipped the guy off with your favorite finger to throw his way.

Still, he curls his finger around yours and grins, “How do you feel about getting on the road? If we leave now, we should be in Hawkins by dinner time. Maybe we can bother Eddie for a free drink. You know he owns the Hideout now? Expanded it, so it’s a restaurant too now. The owner had passed and trusted Eddie would take care of it. Everyone’s really proud of him.”

You don’t. He’s never told you. It happened the past year, and with Clark entering your life, communication had dwindled a bit. He tried to hide his upset with those first few phone calls. Tried to pretend he never noticed how you’d spoken quicker, as though you were trying to speed up your catch up sessions, as though someone were looking over your shoulder.

It hurt to have the little bits he got to keep of you — the parts he liked to think were for himself — cut even shorter.

Things are different now, he reminds himself. You’re here, with him, heading back to Hawkins.

But for how long…that weary part in the back of his soul whispers. Just as quickly as he has you back, he knows he can lose you now. The thought alone stirs dread within him.

“Do you mind if we stop at a phone booth first? I want to call my family. Make sure they at least know I’m okay.” You’re already gesturing to the booths he can see in the nearby distance, hidden under a halo of golden and flame colored leaves dancing on tree branches.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” He knows them. He knows it’ll be anything but civil conversation.

He watches a grimace flutter across your features. “I think I owe at least that to them.”

——

Calling is a mistake. A huge, unfathomable mistake. The phone booth rests on the outskirts of the park, leaves falling to the ground around you, the fall chill in the air adding to the drop in temperature once you step beneath the awning and dial the number you know by heart.

Steve remains behind you, a comforting hand on your shoulder you accept by lacing your own fingers atop his. There’s a quick greeting, a simple ‘hi’ that spills out from you in a nervous rush, and then the phone blares to life. What feels like dozens of voices burst on the other end. You can hear your father shouting in the distance when your mother says who is calling.

Clark’s voice also appears in the background, and you wonder why he’s with them. It’s not like you ever spent much time with him outside of family obligations.

The relationship had been a ruse, a predisposed desire foisted upon you both by affluent families in want of furthering their ‘prestigious bloodlines,’ a result of societal pressures becoming too much. Many had insisted many married for less, that these arrangements were more common than you were led to believe, that love wasn’t afforded to people ‘like you.’ You hated it — hated all that it stood for.

Your relationship with Clark had never been deeply emotional or physical. A kiss on the brow or a peck on the lips for appearances sake, but you never allowed him near your heart. He was a friend, sure; someone you could talk to, could vent to — but that was all it ever had been.

You were merely upholding the optics your families expected of you both. The plan all along had been to eventually separate after Clark received his promotion within your father’s practice, and you obtained your inheritance before finally deciding what you wanted to do with your own life. Figured it was the least owed after throwing away everything you once knew to play a role you detested as a ‘perfect daughter’ to one of the largest plastic surgeons in the country.

“Where are you?” your father demands, voice a gruff bark, “You must have some grand explanation for walking out and throwing the thousands of dollars I threw into your wedding away.”

“I’m safe,” you tell them, smiling softly to yourself as Steve’s fingers squeeze tight around your shoulder.

“Don’t think we didn’t see you run out with Harrington's son. I had the venue pull the security footage —”

“With Steven?” your mother gasps. “You didn’t tell me that, dear.”

“If this is some affair, you and Clark will deal with it in couple’s counseling. I expect you back here this instant, young lady. I did not raise you the way I did just for you to run back to that hell in a handbasket town —”

“I need time away,” you say, a little bite to your tone you don’t expect, heart hammering away, “I don’t know how long. But I need this, okay?”

“Sweetheart.” Clark’s voice pours through the receiver. It’s fake, you know it’s fake. All appearances because he knows his promotion is in jeopardy. He can’t be sole heir of your father’s practice without the wife needed to secure the deal. “Let’s think rationally here. Come back home, I miss you. Please, my love.”

Steve stiffens behind you, his ear having lowered down to the earpiece. You shake your head and he softens when you tug him nearer by his sweater, relishing in the warmth of his body to block out the cold.

“I only wanted to call to tell you all that I'm okay. And I’m okay. I promise.” Voices start to rise in volume, but the phone slams against the holder and the line grows dead, ready for the next caller. Fingers rise to pinch at the bridge of your nose. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill out. Steve opens his mouth to speak, but you offer a stiff shake of the head, murmuring, “Can we just…go? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, sliding a hand down to take yours in his, pulling you from the phone booth. You follow listlessly behind, free hand toying with the edge of your sweater. For someone who always takes up a room with her personality, you seem so small now. Deflated. He hates it. Hates that they hold this power over you, knowing he escaped the same thing years ago now and never looked back. “I love how they still think I’m some shitstain on my family legacy even after all these years. Kind of funny, right, seeing how those people are so miserable, and yet for the first time in my life I’m actually happy.”

You laugh at the blasé nature of his words. He always knows what to say to make you laugh, always has. “I’m glad one of us is.”

He stops, whirling around to cup both your shoulders. “You’ll figure it out too. This will all blow over. It’ll be okay. Do you want me to take you back home?”

The word sinks deep in the pit of your stomach. Home. Is it home, though?

“No,” you mumble, sounding a little forlorn, “no, I want to stay with you.”

“Okay, well…I have one rule when we get back into the car.” His hair dances along his brow as a stray wind picks up. There’s a shadow of stubble along his jaw, and the urge to run your fingers along that new part of him rises up within you. Head tilting to the side curiously at his words, he continues, “Your life back in the city? Doesn’t exist right now, okay? All of that — leave it right here on this walkway. Think you can do that for me?”

You nod, the city laid there to rest on that sidewalk in the middle of Powell, Ohio.

——

Steve visits the first winter after you leave Hawkins. Feels a little out of place as he appears at your parent’s doorway, holding out a bottle of wine he grabbed from a supermarket, in a suit that he knows is ill fitted on his body because he borrowed it from Eddie Munson. Your home is huge; towering white walls, marble floors, a sprawling staircase. But it’s cold and it’s empty and feels empty, without memories to fill it.

Not like your home back in Hawkins, where he spent his days laying on your bed as you studied, or on the couch watching movies, legs tangled in blankets, chairs set around to make silly forts. He misses baking in the kitchen — or rather you baking, while he prattles on about anything that comes to mind as you tossed ingredients together with love and care.

His heart swells as you rush forward, practically leaping into his arms, perfect as you’ve always been. All beaming smiles, melodious laughter, and that incomparable beauty that radiates from within you.

You feel like home — like his; and yet, you’ve always felt that way.

But you’re here and he’s in Hawkins and you’re miles apart now.

And the way your father pulls him to the side after dinner for a not-so-innocent glass of whiskey outside reminds him exactly of that.

“This childhood crush you have — I always thought the two of you would grow out of it. But it’s clear that is not the case.” It’s a dark sound, a sound that has Steve swallowing thickly, fingers tightening around his glass. “We allowed it for as long as we did because it was good for the two of you. Having friends in that town. These are the people my daughter needs to be around. Her peers, her friends, people that she can grow with.”

Steve swallows again. It’s not unlike the conversations he’s had with his own father before his parents left Hawkins. ‘You’re not good enough for her, you’re not good enough in general, you should have scored that hoop, should have won that baseball game, should have gotten better grades, should have joined the family business.’

Should have, should have, should have.

“I love your daughter, sir.”

He’s always dreamed of telling you first. But the moment was never right, sometimes you’d be dating someone, or he would be. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if your feelings were the same. If he learned anything from the knock on his head thanks to Nancy Wheeler, it was that life only passed you by if you waited.

The older man leans back on his chair and sips his drink, the air bitingly frigid, and yet Steve feels hot beneath his clothing. Can feel every wrinkle of fabric against his slick skin. “You know I can’t allow that.”

“Not to be disrespectful, sir, but she’s her own person —”

“That may be true. She has her free will, and both of us are well aware how stubborn she can be, but sometimes that clouds her judgment —” Steve’s mouth opens, but he’s cut off, “What will you be able to provide her? Where are you working these days? That movie shop?”

“I’m — ah —”

“If you were to marry her, how would you provide for your home? For your children, should you have any?”

Steve flounders on the spot. He has his job, and maybe it doesn’t pay what he would like, but he’s also taken up working side jobs with a local contractor. Has started learning how to build, how to fix, has started remodeling Hopper’s old home that he bought off of him when he married Joyce. It’s a fixer upper, but it’s one of the few things he has that he can fully say are his and his alone.

Maybe he doesn’t have everything now, but in a few years…

“Imagine in a few years. You might make her happy now, but what if she wakes up one day and realizes love isn’t enough? When the bills come in and finances are tight — it creates a strain on a relationship, a stress that I don’t think your childhood whims can even sustain. Not forever, at least. She’s used to this.” He waves his hands to the lavish home you live in. “All she knows is this.”

And he cannot measure up. He can’t provide this. Will never be able to reach this unimaginable wealth. Can’t take you to fancy five-star restaurants, still drives the car he’s had for years now, lives in a home that doesn’t have fully functional windows. A home where when it rains he lays out buckets to catch the water droplets that dribble inside through the roof that still needs a ton of love. He has no pension, no fancy 401k, and the barest of savings to his name.

Not enough, he’s not enough, not good enough.

It’s the words that are unsaid that speak the loudest.

He understands immediately what the older man means.

He’s not enough for you.

He’d never been enough for his own family, so why did he assume this would be any different?

“I know I cannot tell you what to do,” the man across from Steve says, a smug grin across his lips that has his blood running cold, “but I would like to make it very clear you will not have my blessing in the matter. Is that understood?”

Steve says nothing, because the door slides open and you’re there in your sparkly dinner dress that likely costs more than what he makes in a week. The differences in your classes have never been so firmly drawn in the sand. You take his hand and urge him inside, smiling at him like he hung the moon, and your father presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Steve, remember what we talked about, son.”

And he’s gone, but his words remain. Swirling, swirling, swirling around inside Steve’s mind. Like little crystalline shards, little daggers, that sink into his skin and twist. Barbs, tangling within him, leaving him reeling and aching.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, brows furrowing, hands cupping his cheeks. “Hey, are you okay?”

You’re warm, stroking his skin so comfortingly, and he smiles down at you, forces it onto his face for your sake. “I’m okay,” he lies, but though you frown a bit at his reply, you smile weakly when he adds, “Missed you, that’s all.”

“There’s a movie playing tonight that I think you’d like. Come with? For old times sake?” Hopeful. You sound so hopeful.

“Sure,” he says hollowly, the mantra of ‘not good enough’ echoing impossibly loud as you walk him down the hall.

——

The rain falls harder now. Thicker droplets that drop against the windshield, little tracks like tears falling down the glass, pushed away a moment later by wipers.

You tug your thighs up closer to your chest, head nodding along to the song playing on the radio. Steve seems far away — lost in thoughts that form a haze over his eyes. Moments ago you’d run your fingers over the backs of his knuckles and he’d offered you a smile, but that wouldn’t do.

“This mountain I must climb,” you sing out, filling the car with your off-key notes, “feels like a world upon my shoulders.”

“What are you doing?” Steve chuckles, head turning your way. There’s a nervousness about him that feels unfamiliar. A conscientiousness that’s usually not there when it comes to him.

Trying to break him out of whatever spell he’s in, your hand splays out, clutching at the sleeve of his sweater dramatically, waving his arm in the air.

“Through the clouds I see love shine —” Another grand swirl of your free hand, and a laugh bursts from him. “It keeps me warm as life grows colder. Come on, Steve!”

“In my life, there’s been heartache and pain,” he mumbles beside you, thumb tap-tapping against the steering wheel. From where you’re sitting, you can see the twitch of his lips, the corners climbing upward. “I don't know if I can face it again.”

You both break into a fit of giggles as the next lines come through the speakers. And then, with your hand against your heart and his waving out in a flourish that teasingly thumps your chest you both cry out in equally as horrendous voices, “I wanna know what love iiiiis. I want you to show meee.”

You turn to face him, staring intently in his eyes, both of you wailing from deep within your bellies, “I wanna feel what love is. I know you can show meee.”

Your head falls against his shoulder, both your shoulders shaking as the song continues around you, eyes following the tracks of the raindrops spilling onto the glass. Comforting, it’s comforting and feels like home.

The chorus blares again and you catch Steve mouthing the words to the song, his eyes a little misty, your heart splintering down the middle.

Trying to break the quiet tension in the car, you tease, “Is that a tear in your eye I see, Steve Harrington?”

He shoves you lightly, though he makes no effort to move you from his shoulder, sniffling noisily. “Shut up.”

“It’s an emotional song. I don’t blame you,” you giggle airily, looping an arm around his waist, the gearshift digging into your middle. You’re about to ask him what has him in his thoughts just as a rectangular object flashes by your side of the car. “Oh! Was that the —”

“Welcome to Hawkins,” he says softly, your head whipping behind you to catch the back of the sign declaring your entrance to your childhood town.

“I’m back?” You breathe out, nose nearly pressing up against the windshield, despite Steve trying to pull you into your seat by the back of your sweater. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles breathily, “you’re home.”

“Home.” Endless rows of lush trees fly by, the rumble of distant thunder drowning out the Foreigner song blaring through Steve’s stereo system. “It’s been so long. Still kinda smells.”

“Definitely still smells over here,” he admits, finally managing to get you to rest back against your seat. “Calm down, you dork.”

Wrinkling your nose at him, you suddenly jump, clapping his forearm rapidly with your excited palm. “Oh my gosh — I get to finally see your place!”

“You get to stay at my place too,” he muses, smirking in a way that has your toes curling a bit in your shoes.

You watch as familiar buildings come into view. Different than they were before the town had been devastated by Vecna, but they're all the same. He winds down roads with names you can still remember, weaving along streets until making his way down the path toward where you knew Hopper’s old cabin to be. Only as you pull up, glancing out the window up at the beautiful trees above, it’s much different than you remember. Gorgeous, nestled away as it is in the middle of one of the most peaceful places in all of Hawkins. Larger and triangular on top, with wide windows and a wrap around deck. Beneath a wooden awning are two wooden chairs, facing your direction. A porch light glows with a yellow light, illuminating the deck and the car just feet away from where Steve parked.

“Were you expecting company?” You push the clasp of your seatbelt free, grabbing your things and pushing the passenger side door open. Leaves crinkle and crunch beneath your feet as you step out, rain droplets falling onto your head.

“Looks like Eddie is still here. That’s his fiancée’s car.”

“Eddie’s here.” He nods at your query, stepping in closer, arm there to loop around your shoulders. “Your home…it’s so much different than it was. It’s — it’s amazing, Steve.”

“Figured it needed some remodeling, seeing as monsters had ripped through it.” He grins to himself at your compliment, though, pride radiating off of his form. “It does look pretty great, doesn’t it? I’m proud of it. Mr. Lafferty gets all the credit. He taught me everything I know.”

“Mr. Lafferty…” The name sounds familiar. He’d been one of the few carpenters in town.

“He passed away a few months ago.” Steve grimaces. “But he helped a ton. We expanded the place, added some rooms, and updated it. It’s…well, it’s home.”

“Show me?”

He nods, pulling you along the makeshift walkway beside him. Rocks shift and move as you follow him, shoes tapping against the wooden steps leading to the front door. Steve pushes it open and you’re greeted with high ceilings, wooden beams along the walls, a fireplace set in the far right corner, two gray couches nearby with a wooden table in the middle of the space. There’s a television in the corner, and set back against the far wall is the open kitchen area.

“You are…not at a wedding,” Eddie murmurs, appearing from within the refrigerator, open beer can in hand. “Thought you were getting hitched.”

“Decided marriage wasn’t for me,” you laugh, rushing forward to slam into the man, sighing happily into his chest as arms loop low around your waist. “But Steve tells me you’re getting married.”

“Yeah, somehow tricked a girl into saying yes,” he chuckles, taking a step back to look at you. “You look great.”

“You do too!” His scars look faded by time now, his hair longer than you remember, earring twinkling behind those dark curls of his. “And who is this?”

There, on a little mat in the corner of the kitchen, is a little orange kitten. It peers up at you with honey colored eyes, a little nervous as it pads closer to Eddie. The metalhead scoops the kitten in hand, little kitten limbs spilling over his forearm.

“This is my nephew, Garfield,” Eddie says, rubbing at a tiny furry ear. “Steve found him behind the Hideout. I managed to convince him to keep it. Poor guy is out here living all on his own, it was only a matter of time before he started talking to the trees. As his best friend, I needed to look out for him, you know? So I figured talking to a cat would be more acceptable.”

“Very funny, asshole.” Steve plucks the kitten from his friend, holding it between the two of you. Your eager fingers reach out to pet it, the little head tilting upward to maximize chin scratches, a rumbly purr vibrating against your fingertips. “You fed him?”

“Fed him, cleaned up after him. By the time you have human babies, I’ll be a pro.” Eddie clapped his best friend on the back, giving you another hug. “I should get back. Promised Abi I would grab pizza on the way home. I’ll see you both around. Enjoy your night, kids.”

His ringed fingers waggle and your cheeks burn. “Oh, it’s not like —”

He offers a parting bow and slips out the door, his boots thundering on the front steps, leaving you alone in Steve’s home. Alone again, you take another glance about the space, noting the staircase against the opposite wall.

Raising a finger in the air, you ask, “Your cabin has a second floor?”

“Yeah.” He nods, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come on.”

Following him, you walk the few stairs leading to his bedroom, taking in the large king bed set against more windows that bleed moonlight into the otherwise dark space, the tan and cream pillows piled high against a dark comforter, his closet in the corner. There’s a woven basket in one corner, various plaid and knitted blankets poking out. To your left is what he tells you is the bathroom, door closed for now.

Even without the fire presently burning in the fireplace, the home feels warm. Like something Steve has put his heart and soul into to make it exactly what he envisioned. Proud doesn’t even start to touch the emotions welling up within you for the man.

All of this. He’s done all of this in the years since you’ve been gone.

“So, uh, you can use the bed? I have a ton of blankets, so I can always sleep on the couch. For however long you want to stay.”

“Steve, no.” He arches a brow. “This is your home. You didn’t plan on hosting. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Or…” Steve places Garfield down on the edge of the bed, the kitten curling up into a content ball, paws kneading into the comforter below. “we just…share? Again, nothing we’ve never done before. Just like the thousands of other times we’ve done it.”

“I mean. Hell, we did that last night too.” You shrug, because he’s not wrong to suggest simply sharing again.

“Exactly.” Steve watches as you walk around his bedroom, taking in the sights. “I got you pajamas. They’re in the car, so I’ll just have to run out and grab them quickly. We can go shopping for more stuff in the morning. If you’re…planning on staying for a bit.”

“Yeah…I mean, I haven’t thought about for how long, and I don’t want to put you out for longer than I —”

“You can stay however long you need to. Or want to. Not a problem.” Steve clears his throat, hand coming up to run along the back of his neck.

“Okay.” You nod.

“Okay,” he echoes.

That’s that.

And later, as you both curl up beneath the blankets, Garfield lying comfortably near Steve’s feet, you whisper into the darkness.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

You can feel him in the bed behind you. There’s enough distance between you that it feels like a chasm, though.

“I’m cold.”

He exhales a yawn. “Do you want me to throw more logs on the fire?”

“No…” You shift backward a little, your frigid feet touching his warmer ones. “Can you, uh…get closer? Like when we were younger.”

Bandaged knees. Summer slick skin. The smell of sunblock in the air. Bodies huddled together, legs tangled and arms wound right. Nights where you fell asleep against him on the couch during winter, his heartbeat a lullaby. Laying under the stars at Lover’s Lake, losing track of time, and having to rush back home as the sun set to get ready for school, his hair a wreck. Images flicker in your mind, memories of times long ago.

It feels different now. Changed, as his body sidles in closer, a muscular arm coming to curl low around your waist. A hum pours from you as he tugs you against his chest, the feeling of his breath at the back of your neck a comfort that has your head nuzzling further into a fluffy pillow.

“Is this good?” he asks, resting his forehead against the back of your head, the rumble of his chest vibrating along your spine.

“Perfect.”

And as his breathing slows and he starts to drift off to sleep, you can’t help but to think about how warm he feels. About how easy it would be to lose yourself in this fantasy — of staying here, in this home, with the person you love.

Therein lies your problem.

——

please please interact if you like. it means the world to content creators. and as always, i am so happy to share a new story with you all. 🩷

#the cuddling in his bed #the singing #god #he’s the love of my life #my lumberjack best friend #luna 🌙#fic recs 💗

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