become the sun
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: figuring out how to move on from life in hawkins, steve takes a trip to the beach, where he meets you, who becomes his tour guide and maybe more than that.
word count: 14.5k
warnings: fluff, teeny bit of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, and some kisses!!!
a/n: hiiii i am so excited to finally have beach steve done for u guys!!! it’s inspired by true blue by boygenius (if u couldn’t tell by the title)!!! i put a lot into this one and i hope u like it <3
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
The beach is an interesting place. It changes with the seasons, the population shrinking as the leaves fade from green to brown.
There’s the crowds that come through from the months of June to August, the people that occupy summer homes, the tourists stopping by, the sand stuck to skin, the coconut smell of sunscreen. It’s when everything is bright, saturated with sunlight and people.
And then, there’s winter. The cooler weather driving away the summertime residents, turning things into a quiet town where the locals all know each other. Snow falling on the beach in January, hands tucked into jacket pockets.
For Steve, it was exactly what he needed. A getaway, room to grow, something away from Hawkins where he felt stuck, still.
For you, the beach is home.
You’ve lived in True Beach your entire life, in one of its classic blue houses with white trimming and accents. You’ve watched the town grow, watched people come and go with the seasons.
The town sits on the east coast, tucked away and—when it isn’t in the heat of summer—small.
You’ve been working at the cafe for years, floating between positions. Baking in the back, ringing people through, cleaning tables. Mornings are spent in the cafe, then, when you’re off, you’re trying to soak up whatever summer has to offer.
Today, you’re heading out the door with your swimsuit on under a sundress, tote bag on your shoulder.
“Have a good one, sweetie!” Macy, your boss (more like a mother figure and friend by now) calls from the counter as the bell above the door jingles with your exit.
“Bye, Macy!”
The heat hits you as soon as you step out the door, your eyes squinting in the sun as you try to fish your sunglasses from your bag.
Your walk to the shore is easy, the steps nothing but muscle memory by now. You cross main street, head towards the path worn into the sand by foot traffic, over the small dunes until the sound of waves crashing onto sand hits your ears. It’s mixed with laughter, conversation, the sound of kids playing.
It’s pure summer.
Towel laid out, you settle in a spot a bit further from the shoreline, enough so that there isn’t anyone else sitting in close proximity to you.
Soon enough, you’ve got your dress pulled off and tossed into your bag, a layer of sunscreen applied, and a book in your hand. You’re laying on your stomach, propped on your elbows, ankles crossed. You’re so wrapped up in the words in front of you and the heat of the sun on your back that you don’t notice the boy setting his things nearby and jogging towards the water. Not until he comes back.
A droplet of water splashes your page, and you look to the side to find the culprit. Your heart stutters at what you see: a boy shaking out his wet hair the way a dog does, all clumsy and cute.
You’ve never seen him before. This boy with brown hair falling over his forehead, eyes crinkling in the sunlight, freckles in a constellation across his skin, a sunburn kissing the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He’s pretty. You’re glad your sunglasses can hide the way your eyes trail down to his chest, the smattering of hair there, the sand that sticks to his damp skin.
In this part of True Beach, you know pretty much everyone. The locals, the people who stay for the summers, but not him. You’d remember him if you did.
“Good swim?” You speak up.
Steve’s head lifts, his eyes finding you easily, laying on your tummy, sun setting a glow across your skin. He scans you, the curve of your back, the book in your hands. You’re the first person who’s spoken to him so far in True Beach, and for a second, he thinks he might’ve dreamt it.
“Yeah,” he says. He wants to say more, ask your name, something, but the words seem stuck. “It’s beautiful here.”
“First time here?” You push yourself up to sit, book set on your towel, your hands propped behind you.
“First time anywhere, really.”
A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, flickering across your face.
“I hope it’s a good one, then.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face, he slings his towel over his shoulder, “I do, too.”
With that, the boy picks up his bag and heads off, and you can’t help but watch him leave, the freckles that dot his back, the muscles that sit there, too. You hope that you’ll see him again.
You hope that maybe, maybe this summer will be different than the rest.
-
Steve’s staying in a condo down by the beach. A white building with scratched paint and faded accents of greens, yellows, and blues. He’s on the ground floor, his small patio a step away from the sand. Coral Condos, it’s called.
He’d found True Beach on a whim, staring at a map and waiting until something jumped out at him. This town did.
For Steve, Hawkins was becoming too much. A reminder of everything that’s ever happened to him, of things he doesn’t know he’ll ever accomplish. His friends were all moving on, moving away, and he was just there.
First it was Nancy and Jonathan going out of state for college, then it was Eddie moving to Indianapolis for his music. What hit him the hardest was when Robin was off to school, too. When he was working shifts in Family Video alone, with his thoughts and the hum of the TV.
He needed to get out, away from the house that served as a reminder of the absence of his parents. He needed the room to change, to let himself be known as who he is now and nobody else.
So he’s here, spending his summer in True Beach to try and figure things out.
Steve’s been worried about his decision, wondering if it was too much, if he was doing the right thing. Robin had reassured him plenty, but after being in a single town for pretty much his entire life, this trip seems bigger.
Then, you spoke a couple of words to him on the beach, and he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Even with big sunglasses covering your eyes, there was a kindness there, the beauty of someone not having any preconceived notions about him. Here, King Steve doesn’t exist.
Not to mention that you spoke to him, sunlight bouncing off your skin, lips moving around your words in a way that caught him.
His walk back to his condo is full of replaying your short conversation, the small smile that had spread over your face. Why the hell didn’t he ask your name?
Steve hopes to see you again, to feel the way he did when you talked to him. Like a person, someone worth speaking to, someone without a reputation that follows him despite being long gone, someone he wants to be.
Yeah, he really hopes to see you again.
-
Soon enough, you’re back at the cafe, working your morning shift and glancing up every time the bell above the door jingles. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but you’re looking for someone specific. Looking for the boy from the beach.
It’s odd, the little spark of hope you get whenever the door opens. You don’t even know his name.
Instead of facing this strange pull you feel towards a total stranger, you try to focus on work. Your customer service smile, making coffees, bagging sweets. You’ve been doing it long enough that it’s all subconscious, a routine that’s easy to fall into.
Then, only an hour before your shift is meant to end, the boy walks in, hair messy on top of his head.
Unsure if he even remembers you, you try to act natural. “Good morning!”
Steve follows the sound of your voice, finding you at the counter by the register, welcoming smile on your face. He recognizes you right away. It’s the same face he’d seen on the beach, the one he’s thought about since.
“Hi,” he says, stepping up to the counter across from you. He glances down to your name tag, pinned to the strap of your canvas apron. It suits you, he thinks. “Makes more sense than ‘girl from the beach.’”
“Sorry?”
“Your name, I mean.” He shifts a little on his feet. “I’m Steve, by the way.”
Steve. A piece of him you won’t have to wonder about anymore. Today, Steve’s wearing a linen button up shirt, the first couple buttons undone, his chest hair peeking out.
“Well hi, Steve. Boy from the beach,” you smile softly, a shared memory floating between you. “What can I get for you?”
If he’s being honest, Steve had sort of forgotten what he came into the cafe for once he saw you standing behind the counter. He looks at the menu on the wall behind you, skimming over the words.
“Um,” he looks back at you, his indecisiveness written in a small wince on his face, “have any drink recommendations?”
“Coming right up.”
You turn to make his drink, the coffee machine whirring behind you, the sound of things brewing a constant background to your day. You pour some ice into a cup, and soon enough you’ve got his drink mixed and poured, too.
You grab a cup sleeve, scrawling a small message on it before you can overthink it, and then slip it onto the cup, turning back to the counter where Steve is waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.
He watched you bounce between things in the cafe, hands moving like it’s second nature to you.
“Here you go,” you say, setting the cup onto the counter.
“Thanks.” Steve picks it up, dropping a bill onto the counter with his other hand.
Again, he finds himself wanting to say more to you, to stretch out the conversation. Instead, he heads to a table in the corner of the cafe and takes a sip of what you’ve made him. Of course it’s good, he thinks. You don’t look like someone who would mess these things up.
Right when he’s about to set the cup back down, he notices the sharpie scrawled onto the sleeve, lettering angled and curved to fit in the empty space. It could only be your writing, the words sweet and simple.
‘Welcome to True Beach :)’
Steve smiles at his cup, at the hint of something friendly, something kind, in a place so new to him.
He really should talk to you more this time, he knows it. Because he regretted not doing it once and he doesn’t want to do it again. So, when he finishes his drink, he walks up to the counter all over again.
“You’re back,” you say, though he never really left. He’d been in the cafe the whole time, your eyes always finding their way back to him.
“Yeah,” he sets his now empty cup down on the counter gently, “can I get another?”
“You liked it?” You smile a little, feeling a zip of success, of some sort of accomplishment.
“I mean, it’s refill worthy, so,” he shrugs like the answer is obvious, shoulder to his sunburnt cheek.
You make him another, the same way you made the first, his eyes on your back, your hands working on autopilot. The recipes make themselves by now, written into your memory.
You still can't really believe Steve’s here, that the boy from the beach walked in when you’d been thinking about him since you spoke. You wonder if it’s some sort of sign, hands of fate pushing him into the cafe.
Either way, you decide to take a chance.
“So,” you hand him his drink, and he hands you another bill and refuses the change, “if you wanted to meet some people, there’s this bonfire tonight at the beach. You should come.”
“Really?” He checks, because there’s no way you’d invite him somewhere after such small conversations, right?
“Yeah, really,” I want you there, you’d say if you had the courage. “You can get to know a bit about True Beach. Being a newbie and all.”
So far in his stay, Steve hasn’t been inclined to seek things out. He’s been alright keeping to himself, going to bed early enough. Now, he’s thinking that it’d be good to get out, to meet people, to explore the way he told himself he would here.
Maybe to see you again, too.
“I’d like that,” he nods, a shy smile on his lips. “You’ll be there?”
In all honesty, you’ve yet to attend a bonfire this summer. You’ve never been a huge fan of them, really. But if he’s going, so will you.
“I’ll be there,” you confirm. “It’s down by the docks. Sort of hard to miss.”
“I’ll see you later then, girl from the beach.”
“Later,” you smile, and a mirrored expression spreads on Steve’s face. “Boy from the beach.”
He turns and leaves, the bell above the door ringing yet again with his exit. For once, you spend what remains of your shift eager for the day to pass, for it to be nighttime with a fire crackling nearby and the boy from the beach as company.
Steve doesn’t know what it is about you, doesn’t know how or why, but somehow, you’ve made him feel like he’s in the right place. Like leaving Hawkins wasn’t this big huge mistake the way he’d worried it would be.
He needed to get out, he knows that, and he’s done it, but he’s yet to move on. Maybe tonight could be a step towards that, a step towards new friends (though he’ll always have those from Hawkins), a new environment, a new beginning.
He thinks about it all on his walk back to the condo. His past, what could be his future. He doesn’t know what it looks like, and maybe he never will, but he knows that the sun warming his skin and the salt in the air is something he could get used to. Something he could love, if he could just let himself.
And when Steve eventually throws away his cafe cup, he makes sure to keep the sleeve with your handwriting on it. A souvenir as good as any.
Maybe a sign, too. A promise of some sort.
-
Your hands are covered by the sleeves of your sweater as you walk over to the bonfire, bright orange casting a glow over the sand, the warmth of the flames hitting you as you draw nearer.
It’s early enough that hints of the sun remain in the sky, a stripe of orange on the horizon, fading into blue as you look up. It’s a really nice night, the stars and moon bright above you, the breeze still warm enough to wear shorts. Even so, you can’t help but be nervous.
You haven’t been to one of the bonfires in a long time, and though you see these people often in town, it’s never like this. Never all at once.
Plus, there’s Steve. You hadn’t told him a time, but he said he’d come and despite barely knowing him, he seems like the kind of guy who means what he says. The anticipation is what gets you. What you’ll say when you see him, how to act.
You’ve never wanted to get to know someone the way you do with him, the instant sense that he’s a person you’d like to have in your life, and that’s intimidating in itself.
“Look who decided to show up!” It’s Steph’s voice, your longtime friend, forever neighbor.
“Hey,” you give her a small smile, happy to see her and apologetic all at once. “Sorry it’s been so long.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she tosses an arm around your neck, “come on!”
Steph guides you to the group standing around the fire, people you’ve known forever, people who cheer at your appearance (though the enthusiasm is hugely influenced by their various states of being drunk).
It’s Mason who works at the record store, Vic that busses tables in the diner like no other. It’s everyone who makes True Beach what it is and you’re glad to be a part of it, even if your mind continues to drift elsewhere.
You keep looking towards the path that leads to the beach, hoping to see a silhouette coming through, the boy from the beach. Steve.
It’s unusual, the way you wait for him to show up. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve had this sort of eagerness, the excitement of meeting someone new, of feeling this pull.
Steph seems to notice your eyes drifting again during your conversation, and she’s quick to ask, “what’s over there?”
“Huh?” You look back at her face, and you don’t exactly love the accusing look on her face.
“You keep looking at the path,” then, she gasps, like she’s discovered something amazing, “are you waiting for someone?”
“What? No.” You shake your head when she nudges her shoulder into yours. “Just thought I saw something.”
“Sure you did, babe.”
All you can do is shake your head again. She’s already gotten the idea in her head, you won’t be getting it out. Besides, even if you won’t say so, she is right, after all.
The night continues on this way, your eyes constantly flicking towards the path, thinking that the person arriving is Steve. It never is, though.
Your hope is shrinking smaller and smaller as the time goes by, thirty minutes, an hour, another hour. Still no sign of him. You’ve only just met, and yet, the disappointment strikes you hard, a sinking in your gut, a thump in your chest. You really thought he’d come.
You shouldn’t be surprised, you think. Or upset, really. You’re a total stranger inviting him to a beach at night, you’ve probably scared him off, freaked him out.
Eventually, you find yourself sitting in the sand by yourself, everyone wrapped up in conversations, laughter ringing behind you.
You stare at the waves, the steady rise and crash onto the shore. You stare and stare and stare until you figure it’s too late now, Steve’s not coming, and you should just go.
So, with an embarrassing lump in your throat, you stand and dust off the back of your shorts and head towards the path, glad that nobody notices your departure, that you're able to force away the tears that have no business being there in the first place.
Where he is, Steve blinks his eyes open gradually, waking up to a dark condo and a kink in his neck. After a day in the sun, he’d accidentally crashed on the couch, falling asleep with the hum of the TV in the background.
At first, he’s just confused, disoriented as he checks the clock and sees the time. 12:26 AM. Then, it hits him. The bonfire, the ‘see you later,’ you.
Fuck.
He scrambles to get up, shoving on his shoes and heading out the door without a thought about how he must look right now. His hair a total mess from being pushed against the couch cushions, his eyes bleary from sleep. That’s not what matters.
Steve’s basically sprinting to the beach, running until he sees the docks, sees the fire still burning nearby. There are still people, too. Maybe I can save this, he thinks, maybe she’s here and I’ll explain and we’ll just laugh about it.
You’re the first person he’s really spoken to here, the first one to make him feel like True Beach was a good idea, and he’d be a fucking idiot to lose the whisper of a friendship before it’s gotten the chance to form. A total fucking idiot.
Breathing heavily from his rush to get here, Steve walks over to the first person he sees, a girl with a can in her hand, her hair in braids that have become loose with time.
“Hey, sorry,” he says, getting her attention.
Steph’s the one he’s addressing, though he has no idea who she is. She turns towards him and smiles politely, because she’s got no idea who he is, either.
“Hm?” She hums.
Steve says your name, the name that’s been in his head since he’d read it on your apron. “Have you seen her?”
“Oh! You’re the one she must’ve been waiting for.” Steph looks around, her eyebrows scrunching, “ummm, she was here. Guess she left.”
You’re the one she must’ve been waiting for, she was here, guess she left.
Steve’s stomach drops. You’d been waiting for him, and he’d practically stood you up like an asshole. Sure, he was asleep and it was unintentional, but you don’t know that, and he feels awful. The things you must’ve been thinking, how you felt.
He feels like the biggest jerk ever.
Steve forces a smile, though he’s sure it’s an awful facade. “Okay, thanks anyway.”
With that, he turns away from Steph and heads back towards the path, his head down, shoulders a little slumped because this isn’t how things were supposed to go.
He was supposed to show up, to talk to you and learn more than your name or where you work, to plant the seed of something between you. Friendship, maybe. More, if he’d been lucky.
“Hey,” Steph calls before Steve gets too far. He turns around. “She’s got a shift tomorrow. Seven AM.”
He nods, and heads off again. He’ll fix this. Somehow, he’s going to fix this and it’ll work. It has to, he thinks, because he needs to know you.
-
Steve barely sleeps that night. For one, there was the nap that was long enough, and then—of course—there’s you. He spent hours laying on his back, watching the ceiling fan whirl above him, trying to figure out what to say.
In the end, he scraps every idea he has and decides to wing it the best he can. Not a great plan, but it’s all he has, so it’ll have to be enough.
Your friend said you started at seven, so Steve shows up at the cafe at exactly 7:02 AM. He's got mismatched socks on his feet, sandals on top of those. He’s sure his eyes are puffy, too, the lack of sleep evident on his face.
Despite that, he opens the cafe door, the bell ringing above his head. He spots you right away, leaning over a table, wiping it down with the towel in your hand, your walkman clipped onto the pocket of your apron, headphones on your head.
There’s someone else at the counter this time, an older woman with crinkles by her eyes and a kind smile. But, Steve came here to see you, so he heads over to the table you’re cleaning.
You can’t hear him coming, you only catch him walking over in your peripheral, his hands shoved in his pockets. You straighten, leaving the towel on the table and pausing your music, pushing your headphones down to rest around your neck.
“Steve. Hi.” You’re sure the surprise is in your voice. You really hadn’t been expecting to see him again.
“I’m so sorry about last night,” is what he says, needing to get it out, unsure of how else to start.
He surprises you a second time, his words are written on his face, the sleepiness in his eyes, the tiny frown on his mouth, the worried scrunch in his brows. It’s impossible to deny his sincerity.
“Oh.” You twist your fingers in the wire of your headphones. “It’s totally fine, you don’t have to apologize to me.”
“No, I do.” Steve pulls his hands from his pockets, and they move as he speaks, like he can’t help it. “Listen, it’s gonna sound made up, but I swear to you, it’s not. I fell asleep.”
“Steve-”
“I did. I got back from the beach and I fell asleep. As soon as I woke up I went to the bonfire, but you’d already left. I’m sorry for making you wait like that.”
You were never angry or upset with him to begin with. It was more towards yourself, the disappointment. You’d built up an expectation of him, of the night, in your head, and it’s your own fault. Still, the explanation has your chest feeling lighter.
“It’s okay, Steve. I mean, I’m a total stranger inviting you to this thing. It’s weird.”
“It’s not! It’s not weird, I promise.” He’s quiet for a second, then, his voice softer than before, he says, “I really did wanna go.”
You’re not sure what it is that gets you, maybe the way his brown eyes seem to melt a little, or the way his voice slows with the last few words, like he really wants you to hear them, but either way, any lingering negativity of the night before seems to fade away.
“You didn’t miss much, really.” You lean your hands behind you on the table. “Just a bunch of people getting drunk and slipping around in the sand.”
“I’m still sorry I didn’t go. I told you I would.”
“Steve, seriously, it’s okay.”
“Thanks for, you know, letting me explain.”
“Stop worrying about it, ‘kay? We’re good.”
Steve wonders if there’s a reason this place jumped out at him when he’d read the name. If some sort of divine intervention led him to True Beach. Because he’d found you here, and though you’ve only spoken a couple of times, he knows that people like you are rare. The sort of kindness that feels refreshing, the easiness of being around you.
He wants more of it, wants to know if maybe there’s a reason he feels like he was meant to meet you.
“I do want to know True Beach,” he says, “being a newbie and all.”
Your words from the day before coming from him make you smile. The thought that he’d remembered what you said well enough to repeat it back. Not everyone listens like that.
“I could show you around, if you wanted? You know, the best spots, the good food.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yeah! It’s an excuse for me to do more than just be lazy on the beach. Plus, It’d be fun.”
He smiles, this time it’s not hidden or pushed back, it’s a beam of light, sunshine peeking out from behind a cloud. “I’ll take you up on it, then.”
You smile, too. “I’m off at one, if you wanna meet back here?”
“Yeah, yes, that’s great. I’ll be here.”
Steven turns to go, but you call out, “don’t fall asleep this time!”
He faces you again, heads towards the front counter saying, “maybe I should get a coffee. Just to be safe.”
You shake your head with a grin, one that stays on your face even when you turn away and continue to wipe down the tables. Not even 8 o’clock in the morning and it feels like a good day.
Macy’s the one who served Steve his coffee this time, and once he leaves, the cafe now mostly empty, she walks over and leans a hip against the table, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows raised at you.
“So, who was that?”
“His name is Steve.”
“Steve, hm? He’s a cutie.”
“Macy! He’s only here for the summer. And we only just met, alright? It’s nothing.”
Somehow, her eyebrows go even higher, the look on her face one you always get when she knows something. Or, when she thinks she knows something.
“Okay, okay. But I saw your smile just now.” She pokes your cheek, “I know you, sweetie. That wasn’t nothing.”
“I’m just gonna show him around. He’s new here, that’s it, I swear.”
She holds her hands up, “fine, but I will be saying ‘I told you so’ if that changes.”
“I’d expect nothing less, Macy.”
Macy likes to try and play matchmaker with you often, but her tone is usually much more joking than it is now. Though it’s still light, still teasing, it’s different. You wonder if maybe she was seeing something you couldn’t, something you didn’t want to see.
You don’t know this boy, not really. You know he has a way of saying things that make them feel true, that he has the softest eyes you’ve ever seen, that he’s able to pull smiles from you without even trying.
No, you don’t know him, but maybe you could. Starting today.
-
This time, Steve doesn’t leave you wondering. He shows up five minutes before your shift is set to end, and Macy, noticing him walking into the cafe, leans over to you, “looks like your boy is back, sweetie. Go ahead and get out of here.”
You shake your head and let it slide, knowing that she’ll believe whatever she wants no matter how much you fight her on it. You lean your head on her shoulder long enough to say: “thanks, Mace.”
Then, you’re heading out, tugging the bow on the back of your apron loose and slipping it over your head to hang it up on its hook on your way to the back room where you grab your bag. You pause at the mirror by the employee cubbies, smoothing back some baby hairs and brushing stray coffee grinds from your cheeks.
Steve stands to the side of the entrance, somehow looking more sun kissed than he’d been this morning, and he waves when he spots you walking towards him. “My tour guide.”
“That would be me.” There’s a small smile on your face already. There always seems to be one when you talk to him. “You ready to go?”
He moves to open the door, gesturing with his free hand, “lead the way.”
The summer heat hits you as soon as you walk through the door, the sun shining on the side of your face. You twist your head away from the sun and towards Steve, who’s fallen into step beside you, his strides matching yours.
“I thought we’d stay downtown, show you the shops and stuff.” Steve looks at you as you speak, even with the sun making him squint. “Sound okay?”
“Sounds perfect. I trust you.”
He steps around you, tugging your wrist gently to place you on the inside of the sidewalk, and himself closest to the road. It’s a small thing, one that could easily be meaningless, but your heart stutters the slightest bit, your steps slowing before forcing yourself to keep up with him.
The walk is short, filled with small talk that doesn’t feel forced or exhausting. It feels natural, the kind of ‘how are you?’ you get from a friend rather than a stranger. And you suppose he isn’t a stranger, you know just enough for him to be more than that.
Your hands brush between you, knuckles skimming against each other just once. A spark zipping up your arm, the same electricity traveling in his, too.
You ignore it (try to, at least), and before long, you’re at your first destination of the day. You stop walking, turning towards the awning of the store, “here we are.”
Steve stops with you, his eyes set on your face as you gesture towards the building. He looks away when you catch him, looking up at the sign hung above the door, a wave that fades into music notes, the words ‘Splash Records’ layered on top of that.
Now, it’s you who’s looking at his face, looking for a reaction. “It’s a gem, I swear.”
He turns to you again, his eyes, lighter in the sun, set on yours, “like I said, I trust you.”
“Okay,” you open the door for him this time, light blue paint flaking onto your hand when you twist the knob, “after you.”
Walking in, the record store is packed, but not in a way that feels stuffy. It’s full, music streaming through the store’s speakers, surrounding the space. There’s crates of records set on tables in the middle, shelves of them lining the walls.
Then, straight ahead from the door at the back, there’s the counter, the register sitting atop it, a record spinning behind it.
You wave to the boy standing there, “hey, Mason!”
Mason waves back, smiling at you, “hey! Need help finding anything?”
“We’re only browsing. Thanks, though.”
“No problem, cafe. You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
The local workers in True Beach have developed this habit of calling each other by their jobs, hence why you’re ‘cafe.’ It’s silly, and you’re all well aware of everyone’s actual names, but it started and stuck ever since.
“Sure will, record store.”
Steve, for some reason, has this dull, punched-in-the-gut kind of feeling. He shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn't, but he does. Seeing the boy smile at you, seeing you share an inside joke.
And then, you’re wrapping a hand around his wrist so softly and leading him into the store and the ache is gone, replaced with this warmth. Warmth that blooms and grows into his chest.
“So, Steve, beach boy, what kind of music do you like?”
Just like that, the ache is forgotten.
“Take a guess,” he says.
You walk towards one of the crates at the front of a table, the letter A attached to the front. He follows, watches you flick through the records.
“Hmmm,” you stop and tug one out, facing Steve and holding up ABBA’s Arrival. “This one.”
“Come on!” He laughs, mostly because you’re right, and you seem to know it.
“You’re totally a ‘Dancing Queen’ kind of guy.”
He shrugs, a closed-mouth smile with mischief laced behind it, and turns to a different crate. And then, ever so softly, he starts humming the tune to ‘Dancing Queen.’
You smack his arm lightly, jaw dropped, soon spreading into a grin of victory. “I knew it!”
You continue on with your guesses, Steve following behind you with a sort of brightness in his eyes. He feels like you’re showing him more with each minute you spend together, your personality shining through with every smile or laugh he’s lucky enough to get from you.
The next album you pull is by Wham! and Steve huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I’m right again, aren’t I?”
“No comment.”
“I’m so good at this.”
By the end of it, you’ve added a-ha and Tears for Fears to the pile, and though Steve will end up buying every single one, he looks at the stack in your arms and sighs.
“Have you been stalking me?” He asks, because you’ve yet to be wrong with your selections.
“Yeah, right. You wish,” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fumbling a little with the records in your hands. “I am just really, really skilled. Plus, you just give off the energy for it.”
“You aren’t making me seem very manly, you know?”
“Who said anything about manly?” Your eyes are kind, Steve thinks they sort of sparkle when you say, “good music is good music. Who cares what it says about you?”
He’d been joking, of course he had, because you’ve been right all along and he sort of stopped worrying about music taste when he started hanging out with Robin, who’s favorite genre is musical soundtracks, and Eddie, who never stopped liking what he did no matter what Hawkins thought of him.
And then, he thinks, Eddie would like you. Would like the way you spoke about music.
Steve’s not sure what to say, not sure how to thank you without sounding like a total idiot. But he doesn’t have to, because you speak before he can, like you’d known he needed you to. “Anyways, you ready for our next destination?”
“I’ll go wherever you go.” The words are soft, and they feel like so much more than simple when he says them. They aren’t more, you know that, but they sound like they could be. “You’re the tour guide.”
Steve buys the records, and with the bag in his hand, he follows you out the door and walks beside you—again, closest to the street—without question.
A couple of stops later (one being the sunglasses shop, where you and Steve handed each other pairs to try on, giggling behind hands, posing into the mirror of the other person’s lenses) you’re leading Steve into the diner on main. It’s classic, vinyl seating, checkered floors, the light blue of the shallow parts of the ocean serving as the pop of color in the place.
You grab a booth, Steve sliding in across from you. It’s by the window, a street of sandals smacking the ground, towels slung over shoulders, and beach bags covered in sand on the other side of it.
It doesn’t take long before a familiar face strolls up to your table, and you give her a little wave as she walks up, “hey, Vic! Busy today?”
“I’ve seen worse, cafe.” Her eyes flick over to Steve, her eyebrows raising when she looks at you again. “And who’s your friend?”
“This is Steve, he’s staying for the summer and roped me into being his tour guide.”
“Hey,” he says, an awkward, but always kind, smile on his face.
“Well, welcome to True Beach.” Vic pulls out her notepad and pen from her pocket. “What can I get you?”
You both order, and Steve listens to you chat with Vic some more, the interest you show in what she tells you, the way you pay attention to her story about a strange customer. He thinks about the way you’ve greeted every shop employee so far today by name, the way they all greet you with the same recognition.
He thinks about how nice it must be to be a part of something like that, a steady unit in a town that sees different faces constantly.
“Sorry about that,” you say to Steve after Vic walks away. “She likes to tell stories.”
“Don’t be. I was eavesdropping, anyway.”
You laugh, quick and sunny, and Steve soaks it up, letting it warm him up. He’s sort of captivated by you, the way you move, the things you say, the way he feels around you. It’s something totally new to him, no matter his history with girls. This is on its own, special and rare, he thinks. Or, maybe, he wishes.
“So, Steve…”
He fills in the blank. “Harrington.”
“Steve Harrington. What brings you to True Beach?”
“Ummm. Vacation?” Steve asks rather than says, because he really doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one that he thinks makes any sense. Self-discovery? Escape? Didn’t want to be the last of his friends stuck in Hawkins?
All of the above, maybe.
“No!” Your foot nudges his under the table. “I mean, like, really. What’s your story? What led you right here?”
Steve likes the way you say what you mean, how you don’t seem to be afraid to ask something more personal. The list of things he likes about you seems to keep growing.
“I grew up in Hawkins, Indiana. Small town, been there my whole life. I was sort of an ass in high school. Hanging around with the wrong people, you know?” He scratches at the hair at the base of his neck, nervous. Less so when he sees your gentle smile and nod. “Anyway, then I met better people. My best friend, Robin, this dork Eddie, and these kids that I care about a lot. Sort of became their babysitter—minus the pay—and, yeah.”
You notice the way he lightens up when he talks about these people, the whisper of a smile on his face as he does. It makes you smile, too, knowing that he has people like that. People that can ease him with a simple memory.
“My parents were never really around. Work trips all the time, stuff like that, but it forced me to learn a lot. I worked at this movie rental place for a few years, and then all my friends were moving on, going to school, taking control of their lives. I figured I’d do the same.”
“That’s why you’re here?”
“Hm?”
“To move on. Take control of your life.”
“I guess so. I wanted to go somewhere. I’ve never ventured out-of-state until now. Saw the town on a map and that was it.”
“I think that’s really cool.” You reach across the table and squeeze Steve’s hand, his eyes flicking up from his lap when you do. “It takes a lot of bravery to come somewhere new, especially alone.”
“I don’t know about that.”
Steve’s quick to brush things off. He didn’t grow up being called things like brave, and though the expression on your face is clearly honest, it’s hard to accept a compliment. Doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t expand a little, though. Like an extra puff of air blown into a balloon.
“Don’t fight me on this, Steve Harrington.”
He’s not sure he could fight you on most things. He’d rather let you win.
“Alright, fine. What’s your story, then?”
“You sure you wanna hear it? It’s pretty boring.”
I want to know everything about you, Steve thinks. He won’t say it, though, won’t risk freaking you out when this has only just begun.
“You got mine. It’s only fair.”
It’s been a long time since you’ve met someone new, since you’ve had to do the whole getting to know each other thing. Usually, it’s awkward for you, the stress of good impressions. Now, with him, it’s easier for some reason. It feels like you’ve known him far longer than a few days. There’s a familiarity there.
“Okay, okay. My family moved here when I was like five, so it’s pretty much all I remember. We’ve lived in the same house since, blue shutters and chipped paint, but I love it. It’s home.”
You don’t feel very different from how you feel now when you think of home. Comfortable, at ease, like you’re not meant to be anywhere else.
Steve Harrington. You’re glad he chose True Beach.
“I started working at the cafe when I was sixteen, I think,” you continue. “Macy—that’s my boss, but she’s more like family—she gave me the job and I just never left. She wants me to take over one day.”
“Will you take over?”
“I love that place. I don’t really see myself anywhere else,” you shrug, hands fiddling with the napkin in front of you. It’s something not everyone approves of, like you’re wasting away there. “I know it’s not all that impressive.”
“Hey, if you love it, isn’t that what matters?” The toe of his shoe pushes yours gently, your eyes catching his. “Not everybody gets to say they love what they do. And you do. I think that’s impressive.”
“Really?”
“Really. I think it’s great, honey.”
Steve lets the name slip, but when he sees the bashful smile on your face, the way you duck down a little, he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.
Honey.
If you didn’t have a crush already, you’re absolutely done for now.
-
Day by day, you and Steve grow closer, and you’re now far more comfortable calling each other a friend rather than a stranger.
You show him a little bit more of the town each day, and a little bit more of yourself, too. He does the same, and you’ve found that Steve is an easy person to talk to, to trust. It’s a friendship born over rented bicycles and hands-free riding down a hill, brunch at the cafe during your breaks, and Steve lending you his baseball cap when you forget your own.
It feels completely natural, like you’ve known him a lifetime rather than a week. It feels like something you didn’t know had been missing.
Steve doesn’t feel much different. There’s a little bit of guilt in him, because he’s never felt this way while in Hawkins; like he belonged. He loves his friends, and that had nothing to do with them, but it sat with him nonetheless. A weight on his chest.
The weight seems to be forgotten when he’s with you, when you’re smiling at him as you show him your home like you’re welcoming him, like he could stay. It’s when he’s alone that he thinks about what this could mean, what he should do.
Right now, though, he isn’t alone, so there’s no heaviness there.
You’re taking him to a ‘super great surprise location,’ as you’d called it, your sandals leaving patterns in the sand, the sun bouncing off your bare shoulders. Steve walks the slightest bit behind you, not far enough that you can’t talk to each other, but enough so that you’re definitely leading the way.
Steve’s honestly too distracted to pick up on where you’re headed. The curve of your spine, the way your hair seems to change color under the sun, the pattern of your strides. It isn’t until you tilt your head and point upwards that he catches on.
He lets his head fall back to match yours, looking up at the lighthouse that sits on a rocky part of the beach.
“The lighthouse?” He checks, “Isn’t that, like, against the rules?”
“Aw, Stevie, since when do you care about the rules?” That’s something you’ve been doing lately, calling him Stevie. He likes it more than he should. “Besides, I won’t let us get caught. Don’t you trust me?”
You’re facing him now, walking backwards, a smile full of mischief on your face. Steve can’t help but be honest, “yeah, I trust you.”
“Well then, let’s get climbing, Harrington.”
You don’t have to tell him again. Steve follows you without another question, like it’s really that simple. He follows you up and up the lighthouse until you’ve made it to the top, out on the metal balcony that overlooks the beach, the water.
You sit down, legs dangling over the edge, arms leaning on the bottom part of the railing. And though Steves not fearless by any means, he sits beside you, position mirroring yours.
“You bring all your tourists up here?” Steve teases, his knee brushing yours.
Vulnerability is scary, and you don’t usually share much about yourself with people, preferring to keep your cards close, but things are different with Steve. It’s scary and incredible all at once. He’s different.
So, you reply seriously, your voice quieter, “I’ve actually never brought anyone up here.”
Steve looks away from the view to look at you, your confession unexpected but welcomed. Like he’s thought since he’d met you, he really wants to know you. Every single thing.
“Really?” He asks, gently poking for more.
“Yeah,” you nod, your eyes focused on the way the waves look from up here, the shades of blue. It’s less scary to talk this way, without looking at Steve and his eyes that you just fall into.
“I always come up here alone,” you continue. “To think, mostly. Like, when things feel really big and awful, coming up here and seeing how small everything is helps. I kinda find comfort in the insignificance, you know? Nothing I do will ever really be that big of a deal, and that’s peaceful, I think. Does that make any sense?”
He finds he can’t look away from you right now, the sad—maybe even nervous—twist of your mouth, your hair messy from the wind. He wonders if he should tell you that he doesn’t think you’re insignificant at all. At least not to him.
“It does,” Steve says, blinking away from you and turning to look at the water, too. “I think that’s part of why I came here. It’s nice to be unknown, to not have to worry about every move I make because of how people will react. Things feel a little lighter.”
You nod, looking down at where your legs touch, your feet hanging over the edge of the balcony. You hadn’t meant to get so serious. Tour guides should be fun, right? So, you add, “the view’s nice, too.”
The sun’s setting now, the sky becoming a blend of pinks and oranges, the rays on your skin turning golden. Still, Steve finds himself looking at you again when he says, “yeah, it is.”
You turn your head at his tone, the gentleness of it. Your eyes find his, the brown almost bronze in the sun, the color melting and swirling and you can’t break eye contact. He’s reeled you in like nobody has before, like he’s been on the opposite end of a string that ties you together, and he’s the only one who could pull it.
“I’m really glad you picked True Beach.”
Steve’s gaze flicks to your mouth, then your eyes, and your mouth again. “I am, too, honey.”
Then, you’re closer to each other, your shoulders leaning together, the warmth of his arm pressed against your own.
You aren’t sure who leans in first, and neither is Steve, all you know is his nose nudges yours, and when you tilt your head in response, you’re kissing. First, a tender press of his lips on yours, and that’s all. But it isn’t enough.
Subconsciously, without a thought, you chase his mouth when he pulls away ever so slightly, and it’s all he needs before he’s kissing you again. Before he’s really kissing you.
Steve’s hand finds your cheek, gently tilting your face for him so he can kiss you the way he wants to. He’s not sure what he’d been thinking before this, all he knows is that this feels too good to stop, too good to be the wrong thing to do.
Your hand is hooked in the neckline of his shirt, knuckles brushing his bare skin beneath it, keeping him close. The other rests on the balcony between you, holding you up, letting you lean towards him.
You haven’t been kissed many times, but you know that for it to feel like this is a rare thing, something delicate that you won’t look into just yet. Right now, this is enough. The sparks that seem to fly around you, burning through you.
Even when you do pull away, nothing feels broken. No, Steve simply uses the hand on your cheek to guide your head to his shoulder, and it’s comfortable, your cheek squished against him, his hand grabbing yours from his collar and holding it in his lap.
You stay that way for what could be minutes or hours. As if you’ve been just like this hundreds of times before.
-
Steve offered—more like decided, really—to walk you home from the lighthouse, the sun sinking lower and lower with every step. You took the long way, sand beneath your feet, breeze growing cooler against your cheeks.
Neither of you have said anything about the kiss, and you haven’t felt the need to. If anything, it feels natural, like this pink haze brought on by the kiss is meant to be there; there’s nothing to be said.
Maybe that’ll change tomorrow, but it’s today and that’s what matters.
At some point during the walk, after knuckles brushing and sparks fizzling between them, Steve had wrapped his pinky around yours, which then turned into holding hands, fingers intertwined, palms pressed together. The warmth of it spread up your arm, a tide rising up and up and up.
It’s dark by the time your house comes into view, weathered paint and blue accents, the porch light glowing warmly in the night. That’s another thing about True Beach: porch lights stay on.
You stop at the end of your driveway, swinging your hands between you. “This is me.”
“Well,” Steve’s fingers flex in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles just once. “Thanks for showing me your spot, honey.”
You look down at your hands, smiling at the way he says it. Honey. Like you’re as sweet as the real thing, like he really believes that.
“Thanks for trusting me to take you there.”
“It was a good one. How you gonna top it next time?”
“I don’t like to reveal my secrets. You know, like a magician.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He gives your hand a squeeze, eyes finding yours, something written behind them that you can’t pick out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, magic tour guide.”
“See you, Steve.”
You’d spoken the entire walk back to yours, but it feels different now. Thicker. The way it did at the top of the lighthouse just before you’d kissed. You squeeze Steve’s hand back before turning to walk up your driveway.
Steve holds onto your hand until he can’t anymore, his arm stretched out ahead of him, yours behind you, only dropping when you’re out of reach. It’s something that has your hearts beating in tandem, like they miss the contact.
When you get onto your porch, the doorknob in your hand, you turn back and wave to Steve again, who lets a smile spread across his face as he waves back. Once inside, you lean against your closed door, head falling back against the wood.
What the hell are you gonna do when summer’s over and he has to go home?
Steve’s thoughts aren’t much different, because somehow, you’ve made this place feel more like home than Hawkins has in a long time. He’s not always worried about things—though he still worries more than he should—and it’s gotta mean something.
He kicks a pebble the whole walk back to the condo, dragging his feet and hoping that walking slower will make his mind move quicker.
It doesn’t really work, and once he’s back in his place for the summer, he figures that he should
probably call the only person who’ll know just what to say to him (with the addition of some jabs).
He grabs the phone from the wall in the living room and dials Robin’s number.
“Hello hello?”
Steve relaxes a little at the sound of her voice, because she’s his best friend in the entire world and he misses her. A lot. Where Hawkins felt heavy, Robin was the one to make things better, but with her and the group away, the weight got to him.
“Hey, Rob.”
“Steven! How’s your trip going?”
“I told you not to call me Steven.”
He actually doesn’t mind it that much, because it’s something only Robin calls him, and as silly as it is, he won’t really stop her.
“Don’t care. Tell me about your summer. Where are you staying again?”
“It’s called True Beach.”
“And?”
Steve can picture Robin waving her hand in the air as she says it.
“It’s actually really nice,” he says. “The beach is beautiful and the weather’s great and there’s a bunch of cute shops on the main street. I met this girl in the cafe and she’s been showing me around.”
“Oh, really? A girl?” She’s probably wiggling her eyebrows now, Steve thinks.
“It’s only friendly, Rob.” He opts out of telling her about the kiss just yet. Maybe because he knows what she’ll say, something about him
having feelings for you. And maybe Robin would be right about that. “But it’s been really fun so far. Went to the record store, this diner, the lighthouse. I got you some presents.”
“Aw, Steven! You shouldn’t have!”
“Don’t act like you don’t want the presents, Buckley.”
“Whatever, Harrington. Have you been taking pictures? And who’s this girl! You can't just gloss over that, dingus.”
“I have some, but my skills don’t really match up to Jonathan’s.” Steve leans his shoulder against the wall where he stands, twisting the phone cord around. “And she’s great, seriously. We’re friends, okay? You’d like her.”
And Steve believes that, because ever since meeting Robin and finding the sort of once in a lifetime friendship with her, he can only see himself around people that she’d like, too.
“I bet I would, Steven.”
“Anyways, how are you? What’s been going on?”
As Robin updates Steve on things—her crush that she’s never spoken to before, what Eddie said he was working on when she spoke to him last, what she had for breakfast—he listens, letting himself get distracted from his thoughts of you.
Not that the thoughts are bad in any way, but they’re confusing, they’re something he hadn’t been prepared for when he’d decided to take this trip. He finds that even though he spends a lot of his days with you, he’s still thinking about you once he’s alone.
Steve’s not quite sure how to face that, but for now, he won’t. He’ll listen to Robin, talk to her until they’re both too tired to continue. He’ll enjoy having you as his tour guide and his friend.
Whatever else you could become, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he doesn’t want you to be a stranger again.
-
Tomorrow has come and you haven’t been able to get Steve out of your head.
First it was the stuff that had you shoving your face into your pillow last night. The way his hand felt on your cheek when he kissed you, the way it felt in yours when he walked you home, the way he held on as long as he could when you parted ways.
Now, it’s the kind of what-ifs that have you worrying about what will happen when you see him again today. Will he act like nothing happened, will he want to talk about it, will he hold your hand again?
You’re excited to see him, it’s hard not to be when you like him so much, but you’re nervous, too. Probably for the same reason.
All you can do is go about your shift and hope that it distracts you enough to ease the small twist in your gut, the unknowns eating at you just a bit. If Macy notices something’s bothering you (which she does) she doesn’t say anything, opting to let you ride it out because when Macy believes something’s right, it usually is.
She feels that way about you and Steve.
Steve, who’s been tossing around in his bed all morning trying to sleep in and avoid thinking too hard. So far, no luck. Instead, he’s been wondering how to go about today with you. Because what he wants is something he’s afraid is too far out of reach, something he’s scared of, and he doesn’t know if it even remotely lines up with what you want.
Eventually, it gets too late for him to keep twisting himself up in the sheets, so he gets up and gets himself ready. Steve chooses not to drink coffee this morning, feeling jittery enough as it is.
His walk to the cafe is different today, because even though he’s still excited as ever to spend time with you, there’s a little weight in his chest that makes him nervous. He decides to walk quickly, whether it’s because he’s eager to see you or to get whatever will happen over with, he’s not so sure.
He doesn’t want you to be a stranger again.
Eventually, with a big breath in, Steve tugs the cafe door open. He sees Macy before he sees you, knowing it’s her because of the name tag.
“Hi there,” she says, her smile crinkling her eyes a little. “Steve, right?”
He’s surprised that she knows his name. And then, the idea hits him like a small punch, his mind getting hopeful with it; you must’ve talked to her about him. You care enough to talk about him with Macy, who you’d said is like family to you.
“Yeah,” he says, walking the rest of the shirt way to the counter where she stands. “And you’re Macy?”
“That’s me!” She seems to notice the way Steve’s eyes search the small cafe, and she smiles as she speaks, “she’s in the back. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
It’s not even a minute later that you’re walking out from the back and towards Steve, tote bag slung over your shoulder, sunglasses on top of your head.
“My guide,” he says as you meet him by the counter. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” You fish your car keys from your bag, and they jingle in your hand when you find them. “Ready to go?”
“Sure am.”
As you and Steve head towards the door you hear Macy call, “bye, sweetie! Have fun!”
You turn to face her and send her a wave. In return, you get a wink and an eyebrow raise and you just shake your head. She might be onto something, though.
Soon enough you’re in your car, Steve in the passenger seat, driving out to the lookout because it’s usually quiet this time of day and you want him to see it that way. The waves crashing onto sand below, the endless stretch of sky.
You chat as you drive, and you’ve found that you didn’t need to be so nervous, because he’s Steve and something about him makes everything seem easy, natural. You’ve fallen into the same spot you were yesterday on the walk home, this bubble of pink and sweet and more surrounding you.
Steve asks you about how your shift went, how busy things have been, what you had for breakfast. Simple things that draw you back into simply feeling the glow of being with him. It’s like he soaks up sunshine and spills it out, warm and bright.
When you turn your head to glance at him quickly, you’re stuck on the way the sun hits his face, the freckles that have appeared on his nose from his time spent at the beach. He looks like he belongs here, you think. A boy with summer written all over him.
And when you make it to the lookout, Steve reaches across the center console for your hand, and your fingers lace together just like they had last night. It feels like the softest click of puzzle pieces fitting together, right where they’re supposed to be.
Steve hadn’t been thinking when he did it. It was his hand reaching out on instinct because it wanted to, because it felt empty where it sat in his lap beforehand.
You keep talking for a bit, back and forth and back and forth and all you can think about is how maybe (definitely) this is more than a crush. That maybe you don’t ever want to see him go.
-
After the lookout you and Steve still have plenty of the day left. You can only look at a view for so long, really, so you decide to head to the beach, which you’ve yet to do, surprisingly.
It’s the main attraction of the town, so you figure you should include it on your tour, even if you know he’s already been. It’s where you met, after all.
You lead him to a spot further down the beach, where crowds dwindle and a line of rocks sort of secludes it from the rest. Of course, it’s not empty. It never is during summer, but it’s as calm as it can get.
A bathing suit is usually hidden under your clothes during the months of May through August, so, with your towels laid out, a cooler that you’d had in your car set in the sand, and bags tossed beside it, you slip your sundress over your head.
Steve watches you pull the fabric up, the hem getting higher and higher until your dress is gone and he’s trying not to stare too hard. Your skin glows with the sun, and he has to tug his own shirt over his head to pull his gaze away. Fabric pulled in front of his eyes to snap him out of it.
Your sunglasses sit on the bridge of your nose, your eyeline hopefully hidden because Steve’s there and you can’t exactly look away. Dusting of chest hair over sun kissed skin, freckles and moles a constellation you’d reach out and trace if you could.
Blinking away, you shift your sights to the ocean, the waves cresting, whitecaps sliding onto the shore. You breathe in the salt air, the breeze warm against your skin.
Soon enough you and Steve are both settled on your towels, light chatter from other groups mingling with the sounds of the waves.
“Boy from the beach,” you say, lulling your head to the side to look at him. “Funny seeing you here.”
“What a coincidence.” Steve likes that you’ve got this thing, something shared between just the two of you. “Girl from the beach.”
“How’re you liking your trip so far?”
“Well, I’ve got this great tour guide. She’s been showing me all the spots,” Steve leans back onto his hands, while you’re laid down fully, peering up at him through your sunglasses. “I think you might know her.”
You grin, butterflies in your stomach. Your hands rest over your tummy, like you’d be able to feel them floating in there. It’s just so easy with him, so natural. You feel like you were always meant to meet each other, it was just a matter of when.
“She sounds familiar,” you play along.
“Yeah. Super kind, works at a cafe, really pretty.”
Really pretty. He’d added it on like a fact, like to him, there’s no questioning that. Your fingertips push against your stomach a little, trying to shoo away the butterflies.
“Pretty, huh?”
Steve’s always thought so, and he didn’t even realize he’d said it until you repeated it back. He doesn’t regret it, though. Because he thinks it every time he looks at you. That you’re pretty.
“Yep. Ringing any bells?”
“I don’t know about that, Steve.”
“I do, honey.”
Your eyes flick between his, his eyes squinted because he’d forgotten his sunglasses, but all you find is that softness that seems to live in the brown of his iris.
He’s looking at your face, at the curve of your mouth and the slope of your nose. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the way he feels, the way he’s felt. He really fucking likes you.
You breathe in deep and turn your head to face the sky, nervous under his gaze, unsure of how to read things. He’s leaving at the end of summer, and you’ll be here. What if that’ll be all you ever see of him? His couple of months here, and then, the end.
The moment seems to pass, Steve changing the subject to something about a new music release he wondered if you’d listened to.
The feelings linger, though.
Worries shoved down and stomach flutters warded away (mostly), you and Steve talk like friends, which you’d take over strangers any day. It hasn’t been too long, but it’s been long enough that you know each other, that you can talk or be quiet and have it be comfortable.
Eventually, with sunbeams warming your skin and your early shift weighing on you, your eyes grow heavy and you're lulled to sleep by the sound of Steve's voice and the sea.
He’d been telling you a story, something about the first time he’d gone to see Eddie play at the Hideout and how surprised he’d been. When he’s done, he waits for a reply, only to be met with silence.
Peeking over at you, Steve notices your head rolled to the side, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. As delicately as possible, he reaches over and lifts your sunglasses to find your eyes shut, and he realizes you’ve fallen asleep.
There’s a smile worming its way onto Steve’s face as he pushes your glasses back into place. A smile brought on by how cute he thinks you look right now, pout on your lips and hair messy from the wind.
A smile turning just a little bit lovesick because you feel comfortable enough with him to be asleep right now.
It’s only twenty minutes before you’re blinking your eyes open again, shifting and breathing in deep as you wake up. The breeze has died down, the heat having your forehead a little damp, your body uncomfortably warm.
“Morning, sleepy.”
You groan and turn towards Steve, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you before responding. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve been working and dragging me around every day. I’d be tired, too.” He’d pulled the cooler to serve as a backrest while you were asleep, you notice. “Good nap, though?”
“Yeah. Guess I needed it.”
You’re feeling warm, almost too warm, so you fan yourself with your hands. Steve notices. “You feel okay?”
“Just warm. Probably shouldn’t have slept in the sun.” You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, which you’re sure is unappealing, but Steve only seems concerned for you, never judgemental.
He twists to open the cooler set behind him, digging out a can that’d been buried in the ice, condensation dripping from it as he lifts it out and shuts the cooler. Steve scooches himself closer to you on the sand.
“Here,” he uses his free hand to move your hair out of the way, pressing the can to the back of your neck with the other.
Your head tips backwards, the cold can pressed to your heated skin immediately cooling you down, easing your discomfort. Still, you feel warm inside—this time, in a good way—because Steves attentive and so, so sweet.
“Thank you, Stevie. That feels really nice. Maybe you should be a nurse.”
“If nursing equipment was a cooler, maybe,” he chuckles. “That feel better?”
“Mhm. Much.” You’re feeling plenty awake now. Plenty alive. “You know what would feel even better, though?”
“Tell me.”
“A swim.”
Then, you’re pushing yourself up from the ground, sand sticking to your palms, and running towards the water. Tossing the can aside, Steve’s quick to
follow, chasing your laugh, grains kicked up behind his heels.
You’re waist deep in the water by the time he catches up, water shifting around him, warmed by sun rays and refreshing all at once. You twist around to face him, walking yourself backwards into the water slowly, Steve following you the way he seems to do.
He thinks he might go anywhere if you were leading the way.
Eventually, you stop, the water up to your chest now. Steve stands close, within reach, waves licking at his skin. You tilt your head at him, “hi.”
“Hi.” Steve runs his fingertips across the water, but his eyes are on you, how the sun is a halo of light behind you.
“Next on my tour: the ocean,” you hold your arms out, like you’re introducing the water to him. “What do you think?”
“Beats the lake back in Hawkins by a long shot.” Lover’s Lake is fun, but it’s nothing special. Mucky waters and grass rather than sand. But this, here, it feels special. “It’s great.”
“Yay! So, since it’s great, you won’t mind if I do this?”
You’re pushing water at him before he can respond, splashing him and giggling when he faces you, jaw dropped.
“You did not.”
“Figured you wouldn’t mind, since the water’s so nice and everything.” You shrug, “sooo much better than at home-”
You’re cut off by Steve’s retaliation. He’s gentler than you were with it, but you’re sprayed with water all the same and you can’t help but laugh a little.
“Oh, you’re on, Stevie.”
And then, you’re splashing him, and trying to swim away, and he’s chasing you and splashing you back, a mess of laughs and taunts, a play fight that’s free and fun and you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way.
It’s not long before Steve catches you, though, long limbs pushing him through the waves until his arms are wrapping themselves around your waist to tug you back to him.
“Gotcha,” he says, his head bent to speak into your ear.
You’re not laughing anymore, your heartbeat picking up in your chest, Steve’s arms seeping warmth into your skin and your stomach. You spin in his grip to face him, but his arms don’t move. “How’re you so fast?”
“I was co-captain of the swim team. We even won trophies and shit.”
“That was an unfair advantage.”
Steve’s hands spread wide, palms on your waist, thumbs dragging over the skin above your bikini bottoms. He sees the way your chest moves with your breaths, quickened and heavy. He’s not playing anymore. Not since he’d gotten the feeling of your skin beneath his hands.
“So, what do I win?”
“A free tour guide?”
“I already have that, honey.”
It’s hit you how close he’s gotten, his nose so close to brushing against yours. It’s like it’d been at the lighthouse, a shift, breaths mingling between your faces, a pull.
“Okay,” you say. You’re not sure if you’d been responding to what he’d said or if you’re answering a question he hasn’t asked out loud.
His eyes search yours, and when you lift your chin for him, he can’t help himself. Steve kisses you for the second time, his fingers digging little indents into your skin, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.
You don’t think you could even if you wanted to. Instead, your hands find his shoulders, and Steve groans so softly into your mouth. Just from your hands on him.
It grows quicker, a little more heated, your mouths moving, heads tilting, and somehow you end up with your legs around Steve’s waist, one of his arms holding you to him, the opposite hand splayed between your shoulder blades.
The current seems to move with you both, waves hitting your shoulders, dancing around you. They push your bodies closer.
Steve can’t believe he’s kissing you again, he can’t believe he’s got you wrapped around him and your lips on his and that it’s real. That it feels so much like a wave rolling over and crashing, breaking something down, creating room for something more.
He forgets that you’re in public, that there are people around—though, not too many, thanks to the spot you’d chosen—and that time doesn’t simply stop when he kisses you. Because it sort of feels like it does.
The world goes quiet, and all he feels is you, you, you.
This time, when you pull away, after however long has passed, your hands slide from his shoulders down to his arms. You smile at him, almost bashful in a way, a tease still lingering behind it, “was that an okay prize?”
Steve’s got no idea how he’ll go back to Hawkins after this.
-
It’s been hours since Steve got back to the condo, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you. You’d stayed on the beach until the sun set, and Steve walked you home, and he held your hand just like he did after the lighthouse.
And again, he finds himself reaching for the phone and dialing Robin’s number.
“Robin speaking,” her voice sounds after a couple rings.
“Hey, it’s Steve.”
“Steven! Hi! How’s it going over in beach land?”
He doesn’t even bother with the use of ‘Steven,’ because he’s just relieved to hear her voice, to know that he’ll always have her, to talk to his best friend.
“Yeah, it’s good.” He leans his shoulder against the wall, his free hand scratching lightly at his arm. “Really good. How are you?”
“You worried about me?”
“Rob.” I always worry, is what he means to say. Of course, Robin knows him well enough to know exactly what he means without having to say it.
“I’m good, Steve. Seriously! Except Keith keeps calling me to pick up shifts at Family Video and I don’t even work there anymore!” She huffs, and Steve laughs. “Don’t giggle, dingus. This is a serious problem.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get bored eventually,” he says. “Why do you think Keith has had like five jobs in the last three years?”
“Whatever. Tell me about what you’ve been up to. Oh! How’s the girl?”
If she were here right now, Steve thinks Robin would be shaking his shoulders, demanding every detail. He’d held off on talking about you fully last time, but now, he needs advice and though Robin technically doesn’t have any experience to help him, she’s the only one he wants to tell right now.
“She’s incredible, Rob. I really like her, think you would, too.”
“Mhm, what happened to ‘it’s just friendly,’ huh?”
“We kissed. Twice, actually.”
“What! Steven, you can’t just drop that on me. What happened? Oh my gosh, is she your girlfriend?”
“Slow down. I’ve only known her for a couple of weeks, okay?” Robin makes a noise on the other end, and Steve can practically see the face she’s making. Something that says ‘whatever.’ “You know the last time I called you? We actually kissed that day, at the lighthouse.”
She gasps, “and you’re only telling me now?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Ugh, just keep talking.”
He shakes his head. Steve doesn’t really know how to put everything into words. How he feels, the way things happened. He tries anyway.
“Then today. We hung out at the beach, and we went for a swim, and we were playing around and then we were kissing. I don’t know. I like her a lot and I’m not really sure what to do. Or how she feels.”
“Okay. Okay, tell me about her. About the beach, too.”
“She’s really nice. Like, she says ‘hi’ to everyone when we go places, and she’s been showing me around after she works all morning.” Steve doesn’t realize that there’s a smile spreading over his face the more he talks about you. “It’s just so easy with her. It feels like I’ve known her for years with how we talk and everything. I don’t know. It sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid, Steve,” Robin’s voice is a little softer, like she wants him to know she means that. “And the beach?”
“It’s so great here. I like the atmosphere, the smell of the ocean in the air all the time and the people and even the condo is nice.”
“Can I say something that might scare you?”
“You’ll say it anyways, won’t you?”
“I will. Here it is: you sound really happy there, Steve. Like, happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”
His stomach twists, almost guilty that he could be so happy someplace where he’d started fresh. Like he’s betraying Hawkins and all of the good that he’d found there, even when so much was bad.
“I really miss you, Rob. I miss everyone.”
“I miss you, too, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happier where you are.”
Her words sort of punch him in the chest, air sucked from his lungs, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. Because when he thinks about it, like really thinks about it, Steve is happy here. Happy is a big thing.
“When did you become so wise, Buckley?”
“I’ve always been wise, Harrington.”
His head falls against the wall with a small thump, his thoughts weighing him down a little. Steve really likes it here, and he really likes you, and he misses his best friend. He’s not sure where to go from here.
“What am I gonna do?” Steve’s quiet, but Robin hears him.
“You’re gonna do what’ll make you happy, Steve. For once in your life, be selfish, do something for yourself, not anyone else.” Robin knows Steve better than anybody knows him, and she knows why this is hard for him. “You know I’ll always be here. It doesn’t matter where you are. Besides, True Beach isn’t so far. I’ll visit and annoy the shit out of you. Plus, I need to meet this girl. She’s clearly a good one, if she’s got you like this.”
Because she knows him the best, Robin already knows that what he should do is stay. Stay where he sounds happier than ever, unrestrained in a way he never could be in Hawkins. Stay with you, who’s brought it out of him.
“Love you, Rob.”
“I know. Love you, too, dingus.”
Steve’s eyes are stinging, though he’s not really sure why. Maybe he’s overwhelmed with how quickly things can change, sad that this feels a little bit like a goodbye even though he knows it isn’t, maybe even relieved that Robin’s supportive of him no matter what. Maybe it’s everything all at once.
“What about the presents I got you?” He asks.
“Well, Steven, there’s this thing called postal service, where you can put things in the mail.”
Steve laughs welty, eyes misty, grateful for how easily Robin manages to brighten the mood. For the rest of the conversation, he feels a little lighter.
Now he’s just got to tell you how he feels.
-
It’s crazy how people can take root into your life, plant themselves there and grow like ivy spreading wide over a house until there’s more green than brick.
Steve Harrington proved that when he’d shown up in True Beach mere weeks ago and dug a spot for himself in your life, in your heart. He came barreling in, a stream of sunlight sneaking through a gap in curtains, and you’ve chased the warmth, basked in it as much as you could.
In so little time, Steve’s become one of your absolute favorite people in the world. A stranger to a friend to something toeing the line of so much more. You’ve kissed twice, and it’s been enough to tell you that your feelings are undeniable. They’ve taken root just as he has, buried deep.
With those feelings, though, has come the painful realization that he’s leaving soon.
Last night, after your kiss, you hadn’t been thinking about what would happen next or what it could mean. No, you were blinded by the day of sunlight that is Steve. You’d forgotten that sooner or later, the sun has to set.
Now, it’s your day off and instead of sleeping in, you’ve found yourself overthinking at the lighthouse.
You’re worried about what will happen when Steve goes home, whether you’ll keep in touch, whether he’ll forget about you, if he’ll ever come back. On top of that, you’re worried about your feelings, how strong they’ve grown in a short time, if he, by any chance, feels the same.
Sat on the balcony, chin resting on your bent knees, staring out at the morning sky, all you do is think.
Steve’s conversation with Robin last night was the push that he needed, the reassurance that he can do this and have everything be okay, that he’s allowed to make this decision for himself. That doesn’t make it any less scary, though.
He decides that he has to tell you as soon as he can, while he’s got the momentum to do it.
It’s still early when he heads to the cafe in hopes of finding you, and while the place is open, there’s nobody inside when he walks in. Well, nobody except Macy.
“Hi there, Steve,” she says, a gentle smile on her face.
“Hi, Macy,” Steve then says your name, and Macy’s smile shifts to knowing and fond. “Is she here?”
“She’s not in today, dear. But I have a good idea of where you’ll find her if she isn’t home.”
“I do, too.” The lighthouse. “Thanks, Macy.”
“And Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m happy for you two.”
Macy speaks like she already knows how this will turn out. For the sake of optimism, Steve chooses to nod in thanks and head out. Macy seems like someone who’s right more often than wrong, and he hopes that it works for him this time.
He heads to the lighthouse right away, because he remembers what you’d said about being up there, how it helped you put things into perspective. Plus, he’s got a feeling. That pull to you guiding him.
While Steve feels good about his decision, hopeful, even, he’s still afraid. You might think this is all too soon, too fast. Worse, you might not even feel the same at all. But then, what if the worst doesn’t happen? What if you want him, too?
Those what ifs are enough to take the chance, he thinks.
Steve finds you at the top of the lighthouse, chin propped on your knees, arms wrapped around your bent legs. “Hey, honey. Want some company?”
You lift your head at the sound of his voice, turning to find him standing in the doorway to the balcony with his hands tucked into his pockets, his hair messy from the wind, eyes still a little puffy from sleep. He really is pretty, and you wouldn’t dream of denying his company. Not even when he’s part of your worries.
“Hi, Steve. Yeah, sure.”
He takes the few steps over to you, crouching to sit next to you, his shoulder touching yours.
“I went to the cafe to find you,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Then, you weren’t there, so I figured this would be a good place to look.” He nudges you lightly, “and I found you.”
“You did.”
“I wanted to tell you something, if that’s okay?”
If that’s okay, like you’d ever deny him.
“‘Course it is.”
“Okay,” he takes a big breath, because Steve knows there’s no going back after this. He’ll say it and he won’t take it back. “I really fucking like you. I thought we could be friends after we kissed the first time, like a blip, you know? And if you just wanna be friends, that’s okay. I want you in my life, however that looks. But I’d like you to be more than that ‘cause I have pretty big feelings for you.”
Your chest rises and falls quicker, his words making your heart pump faster, because he wants what you want and he’s telling that to you and it feels so good. Too good.
“Really?”
You turn your head towards him, finding him already facing you, your eyes locking like magnets. He’s smiling so softly at you, nerves and sincerity, patience and fondness. You want to kiss him all over again.
“Cross my heart, honey.”
“I really fucking like you, too, Stevie.”
And just like that Steve knows this was the right call, that you’re the right call, because there’s a sweet, closed-mouthed smile on your face that he put there and it’s all he could ever ask for.
He dips forward to kiss you, once, twice, three times. Small pecks before pulling back.
“What’s gonna happen when you leave?” You ask, worrying out loud, eyes searching his.
“About that,” Steve reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together and giving it a squeeze. “I love it here. A lot. I feel like I could really belong here, and I have this pretty tour guide to thank for that… Um, I was thinking I’d extend my stay.”
You squeeze his hand back, fluttering in your stomach at the relief of him wanting to stay, at the thought that you’d had a part in that.
You think he could really belong here, too. He’s meant for summer and sand and the sun. Meant for lighthouse sunsets and every season by the ocean. He’s summer in a boy.
“Yeah? For how long?”
“However long you’ll have me.”
Steve wonders if now’s a good time to tell you that he’s fallen in love with more than just True Beach.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
thank u so so much for reading!!! if u enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment/reblog and letting me know what you thought! it helps and means so much <3
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