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mc-i-r · 1 year ago

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Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fillet #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #things get better for Steve i promise #hes just having his angsty time right now #robins part is next tho so stay tuned for that #disposable heroes

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sh0ek0 · 1 year ago

Text

miss you (part 3)

part 1, 2

genre: angst, smut, dark content, all over the place content warning: 18+ !MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! As I forgot to mention in part I + II: aged up characters OF COURSE (college setting), mentions of alcohol and drug use, name calling, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, violent behavior, emotional abuse, choking, dj!choso, rough!megumi, hints of narcissism, obvious mental problems, maddy and nate (euphoria) kinda dynamic, euphoria inspired dialogue, DARK CONTENT, I really don’t know how to do these content notes, I’m sorry, I’m trying pairing: Choso x Reader, Megumi x Reader (kinda???) word count: about 10k

A/N: I really love to include some songs that inspire me while writing, I love music (that’s such a basic thing to say lol) so if you're up for it click on the lyrics. Also I really hope this was worth the wait, I am so sorry 🫠 this is kind of all over the place, like always, but I want to stop being so critical with myself, soooooo yeah. Here you go 🤭

Everything just felt so wrong. It was so hot down here and you were constantly bumping into people. The alcohol in your blood was making you dizzy with every step you took through the crowd and it was definitely messing with your sense of balance. You felt kind of nervous, but it was your own fault.

You were the one who hid in your bed for a whole week, your anxiety now at an all-time high.

And you were the one who accepted all those drinks that Yuji had mixed for you upstairs.

However, those drinks seemed to fulfil their promise of freeing you from your inner torment, and as soon as the people around you were starting to look a little blurry, you start to move to the loud music blaring from the speakers.

I don't ever wanna see you / And I never wanna meet you again / One thing / When you're angry, you're a jerk / And then you treat me like I'm worth nothin'

"This track goes so hard."

You open your eyes as you hear a familiar voice screaming in your ear. You see Nobara grinning from ear to ear as she dances to the music, the parts of her body that are not covered were glistening with sweat as the fluorescent lights hit her skin. She looked so damn beautiful.

How much you loved your friends.

This time it was Maki who dragged Nobara and you along with her to a house party off campus so the three of you found yourself in some guys huge basement, loud techno music blasting from the speakers and lots of sweaty people pressing up against each other. It was hot and completely dark except for a few neon lights that made it possible to at least distinguish a few faces.

Not a single person down here seemed to be in any real control of their senses anymore, most of them were completely out of it already, while you could only imagine what kind of drugs they had in their systems by now. But hey, it was none of your business and you wouldn't judge, so the only thing that mattered was that the three of you were having a fantastic time.

I don't ever wanna see you / And I never wanna meet you again / It’ll happen again / I watch it happen over and over again

Another thing that brought you down here to this shady basement was a rumor that this new DJ was doing a pretty good job. And you knew he was pretty cute too - from where you were standing you could see his face hidden behind a MacBook screen, his hands effortlessly dancing across the array of buttons, knobs and sliders in front of him. Watching him, his body moving in sync with the music, his head bobbing as he worked his magic, you couldn't help but notice how good he looked. His lip was visibly split from last weekend's events and the pale hint of a black eye still marked his skin, but if you were being honest, it made him look even hotter.

You find yourself staring in his direction for a second too long and before you can look away, his eyes lock with yours and you see the realization in them just seconds later.

You feel a jolt of electricity run through your veins as your eyes lock.

Choso turns his eyes back to the DJ set in front of him a few times, but each time he looks up, you can feel him searching for you in the crowd. You can feel his gaze sticking to you like the bodies of Nobara and Maki who were dancing near you.

The heat around you envelops you like a suffocating blanket, while the bass pounds through the walls, pulsing in your chest and guiding your movements.

Don't try to find me / I’m better left alone than in this / It doesn't surprise me / Do you really think that I could care? / If you really don't like me / Find somebody else, it could be anyone else out there

The next time you turn in his direction, it was you who sought his gaze, flashing him a mischievous grin as your eyes locked again.

Choso raises an eyebrow, but the grin on his lips gives him away. He winks at you, and as you continue to watch, you notice him smiling to himself as his hands skillfully move over the equipment, fading the old track into a new one. A few people immediately start to cheer.

Say yes to Heaven / Say yes to me / If you dance I’ll dance / d-dance / I’ve got my eye on you / you / you / you

The moment you recognise the song, a squeal escapes your lips. Your hips sway effortlessly from side to side, perfectly in sync with the rhythm. Nobara has her arms loosely wrapped around your neck, joining in and mirroring your every move.

Choso knew you loved this song.

You fell in love with it the first time you both heard it. That was a few weeks ago in his and Yuji's apartment, you were talking about music and you told him that you absolutely adored Lana Del Rey. It seems that he didn't forget that, because he mixed the song into something completely different, but just as beautiful.

You couldn't help but think that it felt like he'd done that for you.

But did he?

Either way, he's managed to sweep you off your feet with a little gesture like that, and you can't remember the last time a man did that for you.

It feels like hours have passed before you realise that another DJ has taken over. As the current track slowly fades out into a new one, you notice how the vibe changes and most of the people who came for something with more bpm start to leave to go back upstairs.

Nobara grabs your hand and pulls you with her, Maki follows.

"Hey, I like that song—", you protest but Nobara and Maki were on a mission to get some fresh air.

You notice how fast your heart was beating as the three of you make your way to the stairs, the pounding music slowly fading into the background.

"That was so good," Nobara sighs and you nod in agreement, still dizzy from all the sensations around you that your drunken brain was having trouble processing, "Choso did a damn good job, I didn't even know he could do that."

"Neither did I," you add, leaning down to take a sip from the straw in Maki's drink, "but he has skilled hands, so it makes sense."

"Oh shut up," Maki groans and you take the drink from her. You couldn't really tell what was in it, but you've reached a point where everything tastes the same to you anyway.

"I still don't understand why those idiots prefer to stay upstairs with Gojo and Getou and play beer pong," Nobara sneers, making you laugh. She was so right.

"Well, they missed a healing experience," you say, staying close to the two girls while more and more people leave the basement, "I thought all I needed was some random guy to fuck me in the bathroom to get Megumi out of my head, but actually this was just as good."

Nobara turns around and stares at you in shock as you take a sip of the unknown drink, causing you both to burst out laughing.

"A win is a win, I guess," she says and you high-five her.

"I'm actually so proud of you," Maki says, nudging your side before wrapping her arm around your waist.

You were surprised at how easy it was for you to talk about him. You hadn't heard from him in well over a week, and you weren't about to keep feeding your own delusion by telling yourself that that hookup in his car was enough to rekindle your relationship. The two of you were over, and not just since he had dropped you off at your apartment at 4am last weekend. Those had been empty words, everything he had said to you that night. You had lied to yourself, thinking you could change his mind by having sex with him. He hadn't even waited until you were safely inside, instead you heard his tires squealing right after you slammed the door of his car shut.

"Who says you can't have both?" a deep voice whispers in your ear, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Well, that was embarrassing.

You immediately recognise his voice.

Maki and Nobara start to giggle while you just freeze. They couldn't possibly have understood what he was saying at this volume, but the suggestiveness in his voice was enough to make you blush.

You turn and look up at Choso, who was looking back at you with a smirk on his lips. Up close, he looked even more battered than before, but you refrain from saying anything. An apology wouldn't help him and Megumi didn't look too good either.

He hugs you briefly, his hand remaining on your lower back even after you pulled away.

"Your set was great," you say, suddenly feeling a bit shy. Even though you meant it, you just wanted to fill the awkward silence. The fact that Maki and Nobara were standing right behind you didn't help, and Choso caught you so off guard that you didn't really know what to say or do.

In the end, overthinking was what you did best.

Choso smiles at your comment and you catch his eyes roaming over your body for a second.

"Thanks, I could see you enjoyed it," he replies, looking you straight in the eye.

You can barely stand his gaze, your face could hardly get any redder and just as you open your mouth to say something, he clears his throat, his hand still on your back.

"Let's go upstairs, I need something to drink," he motions to Maki and Nobara to take the lead, "it's so damn hot down here."

"Oh, it really is," Nobara says, taking Maki's hand and dragging her through the crowd and up the stairs.

You and Choso follow, him being so gentle as he makes sure you don't bump into anyone, as you still have trouble walking a straight line in your knee high boots.

"Oh - careful," he says, catching you just before you could stumble up the stairs, "you know I'd do anything to get that goddamn asshole out of your head, but you really can't make me take advantage of a drunk girl."

Again, the words were only meant for you as you fell back against his chest, strong arms holding you, his hot breath brushing your neck, his lips just below your ear.

He managed to get you up, and once you were both surrounded by even more people and loud music, you turn to face him.

"I might be drunk, but I'm not a girl," you say, looking at him challengingly.

"Oh," he laughs, "did I miss anything?" He looks at you for a moment, the grin never leaving his lips.

You just glare back at him.

"Fine, excuse me, ma'am," he says, making you giggle.

"But you are drunk," he observes.

"Then let's get even more drunk together," you decide, taking his hand to lead him into the kitchen.

"Sounds like a plan," Choso says, laughing, "Lead the way."

If you had turned around, you would have seen the adoration with which he looked at you. At that moment, he would have followed you anywhere.

Maki was already sitting on the kitchen counter and Nobara was standing next to her, giggling at something she said. The two were drinking from red plastic cups when Yuta made his way over to them, waving at you.

You wave back at him before you look around to see Yuji still mixing cocktails.

You and Choso push past some people to keep Yuji company, who hands you both two cups. Yuji grins as you taste his secret recipe and you immediately grimace. Right now you can definitely taste more than four different kinds of alcohol and that should be enough of a statement to make a final judgement about his creation

"I mean, it does it’s job but please don't ever start bartending anywhere," you groan and take another sip.

"Yeah, listen to her," Choso says, but he empties his drink before you do.

"Hey, don't hurt me like that," Yuji protests, "you weren't complaining earlier, though."

"Well yeah," you say, "But I don't take any responsibility for the fact that you had the plan to get me drunk."

"Oh, I would never do such things," the pink-haired boy says, pouring another cup for Choso before changing the subject.

"My brother was doin’ a pretty good job down there in that basement, huh?"

"Yes, he definitely was," you gush as he reminds you, "but where were you? You missed something."

"Oh, I didn't," he replies, "I was right next to him, watching all the magic happen right in front of me."

"Really?" The music changes and you had to shout over it.

"Yeah, but I guess you only had eyes for someone else," Yuji grins, making you blush.

You sip from your cup, cheeks red and the grin still on your lips, but you don't say anything, instead looking up at Choso.

"I'm going outside for a smoke, join me if you want," he says in a low voice, letting go of your hand, only now realising that you've been holding it the whole time.

You nod and watch him until he disappears through the kitchen door and out onto the patio. You see him join Gojo and Getou who had been sitting outside with Hakari, Kirara, Nanami and Haibara for a while. Before Choso could even sit down, Hakari was already holding a joint out to him.

Yuji snaps you out of your thoughts and you take another sip of your drink.

"Hey, what's going on, huh?"

You weren't sure what he was hinting at.

"What?" you ask, trying to concentrate on what he is saying.

"You and my brother," he replies, getting straight to the point, "what's going on with you two?"

"I don't know," you say, not even lying, "nothing? Something? I don't think I can say."

"Mhm," Yuji pauses and looks around before turning back to you, "Megumi's here tonight, I saw him earlier."

"Great," you say and put down your cup, "I don't care."

"I think I've heard that before," he sighs while looking at you with worry in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I don't really care," you say, slightly disappointed, "he doesn't care about me either."

"I doubt that," Yuji tells you, without specifying what exactly he doubted.

You lean against the counter next to him and watch the people standing around in the kitchen. Most of them were talking, shouting at each other over the loud music, dancing or laughing.

You had already drunk a lot and no decision you would make now would be a good one. Your senses were far too clouded for that, but you needed that kind of ease, you wanted to turn off your racing thoughts. So you didn't have too many options, either you could bang your head against the wall to stop thinking about him, or…

"Let's do some shots," you suggest, almost immediately hearing Yuji groan. You grab a bottle of tequila from the bar and pour yourself and Yuji two glasses.

"What about lemon or salt?", Yuji protests, but you just clink glasses with him.

"What an amateur," you retort, raising the glass to your lips, downing the contents and immediately refilling it, "works just fine without it."

"I hate you," you hear Yuji groan as he does the same, "this is fucking disgusting."

You both start to laugh at Yuji's disgusted expression. The tequila burns as it runs down your throat and you realize just how much you overdid it already.

But wasn't that half the fun? You always had the best nights when you and Maki would stumble into your apartment early in the morning, still completely drunk, with Yuta struggling to somehow try and get you two into your beds.

You start to refill your glasses when Yuji puts the half-empty bottle aside and looks at you with that worried look on his face. Before you can protest or tell him off for looking at you like that, someone else catches your attention.

That couldn’t be.

"Oh, he wouldn't do that…", you say under your breath, completely in disbelief, "that fucking..."

Yuji holds you by your wrist. The two of you just stand there and watch as Megumi stumbles into the kitchen.

He was holding the hand of a blonde stranger. A stranger, at least until she turns around and sits down on the kitchen island in the middle of the room. You see Maki and Nobara turn to them as well, with Yuta looking at you instead.

You recognize the blonde girl right away.

And just when you think this scene couldn't get any more absurd, you watch as Megumi kisses Yue. Yue, the girl from the party last weekend, the one who went to the same class as you. The girl who tried to stop you from looking for Megumi.

The girl who was so "worried" about you.

"What the fuck," you curse, trying to free yourself from Yuji's grip, "I'm going to fucking claw her eyes out, I fucking mean it."

Yuji was the only one who could hear you, loud music was still blaring from several speakers throughout the house.

"Am I fucking dreaming?" you yell over the music, "fucking let me go Yuji, I'm gonna..."

"That's his ex-girlfriend." Yuji says. Nothing else, just 'That’s his ex-girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend?

"I saw him talking to her right after he tried to beat up Choso," he adds.

He didn’t. That couldn’t be—

"No, he..." That couldn’t be true.

"I saw his car outside her dorm the morning after the party when I was walking over to football practice."

It took you a moment to process this information.

"He didn't..." You wanted to throw up. Maybe it was just the tequila, but there was still the tiny chance that this bizarre scene was to blame for you suddenly feeling sick to your stomach.

"Get a fucking room, you disgusting piece of shit." You hear Nobara screaming over the music while Megumi and Yue were tightly entwined, standing right in the middle of the fucking room.

You were still standing next to Yuji, leaning against the kitchen counter and if looks could kill, the two of them would probably have turned to dust by now. You stared at Megumi, watching him as his hands wandered up her thighs and ass, caressing her waist while they made out as if they were the only people in the room.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, your eyes met.

You could swear he was looking you straight in the eye as his lips trailed down her neck. His eyes were as dark as ever, almost pitch black, and if you were being honest you couldn't be sure if he was just drunk or if he took something else. Even by his standards, the show he was putting on was truly out of character

If that was one of his sick fucking games he liked to play he definitely did not give you a heads-up. What was he trying? Getting back at you for last weekend? What was he trying to achieve? And Yue was his ex-girlfriend? How come you're only finding out now, and how did she have the audacity to even look you in the eye last weekend, let alone try to comfort you?

"You don’t threaten someone you love with a gun."

Well, good for her that he was obviously treating her completely fucking different.

He seemed unfazed by Nobara's comment, and after your brief eye contact, he closed his eyes again, focusing entirely on the blonde in front of him.

You were almost boiling with rage and the faces you made, made it really difficult to hide your anger.

"Let go of me," you say again with such emphasis that Yuji actually let go of your wrist.

"Don't do anything stupid," he says, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"Oh, I would never." Your voice dripped with sarcasm.

'Don’t do anything stupid.' - You didn't even know what to do. For a moment you thought about going up to Yue and ripping out her ugly blonde extensions and telling Megumi how pathetic he was, but instead you did...

Nothing.

You gave Nobara and Maki a quick look, then turned on your heel and stormed out the kitchen door. The cool night air helped you to calm down and it managed to clear the chaos in your head a little.

You take a quick look around before you realize that Choso is still sitting outside with the others, who have spread out over the various seating areas on the patio.

You walk over to them with a determined stride, Kirara sees you from afar and greets you, causing Choso to turn around in your direction. He was sitting comfortably in a two-seater and as he looked at you, you immediately notice his heavy eyelids and dark red eyes. You smile at him and as soon as he realizes it was you, a wide grin appears on his lips.

He makes some room for you, but before he could move to the side you were already sitting next to him, leaning against him, your legs casually stretched across his lap. Not averse to the sudden physical contact, he puts his arm, which had been resting on the back of the two-seater, around your waist and his other hand on your thigh.

"Hi," he says quietly, "what took you so long?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me," you whisper back, "your brother really hates tequila and I felt bad for making him do shots with me."

Choso laughs, not asking any more questions.

"But I’m here now," you say, placing a hand on his chest, "guess I missed you."

"Did you smoke already?", you tease, looking up at him.

"Well, do I look like it?", he asks, that big grin not leaving his lips.

"Mhm, couldn’t tell," you lie while trying your best to hide your feelings from him.

You turn to look at the others and notice that Kirara is watching you. Gojo also looks at you from time to time, his gaze wandering from Choso's hand on your thigh to your hand on his chest. He raises an eyebrow, but you ignore him.

"Hi, y/n," Kirara says with a warm smile on their lips, "how are you? I missed you in class this week."

You could feel that they was really just concerned about you. After all, Kirara had been at the party last weekend as well.

"Yes, I'm better, I think," you answer and try to fake a smile, "Thanks for asking.

Kirara smiles at you again, "I can send you all the important stuff we did. It's not much though."

You watch as Hakari pulls them closer to him, his large body making them look so much smaller in comparison. Hakari and Kirara were one of your two favourite couples, the other one being Yuta and Maki, of course. He adored Kirara and wasn’t afraid to show that every chance he got.

You hear Getou clear his throat and you turn your gaze away from the two to look at him. You see that he is holding a joint out to you.

"You want some?", he asks and you politely decline.

"Oh, no, I think I need to chill for a bit." You smile at him. Your head was already spinning and you couldn't handle the sensation of another drug right now.

"Come on, you've got to try it, Hakari brought the good stuff," Gojo says, making you think for a moment before you reach out for Getou's hand.

"You're so easy to convince," you hear Gojo snort. He grins at you as you take a drag, but you just stick out your tongue.

"Or, maybe you’re just really convincing," you tell him, taking another drag before passing it to Choso.

"I'll remind you who's easy later tonight," Getou says, coming to your defence. You and the others break into laughter at his comment and watch as Gojo crosses his arms over his chest.

You hear the two of them start bickering and notice that the others, Hakari, Kirara, Nanami and Haibara, were also returning to their heated conversation.

"Did something happen in there?", Choso asks a little while later. He was observant even when he wasn't. Of course he had noticed something. You sigh, Hakari has just handed you the joint again and you hold it between your fingers. You take a drag, then a second one.

"Yeah," you say, blowing out thick, white smoke, "but I really just want to forget about it."

It had already worked. Since you went outside, you had pushed the thought of Megumi and Yue far away from you. It was all so confusing, this time you couldn't understand what his motive could be. Of course he was angry that you had made out with Choso at the party last weekend, but you two had broken up. Why had he waited for you that night in the first place, was he really so shallow that all he wanted from you was sex? And what did he need you for anyway if he had spent the night with her after he dropped you off?

The look he gave you earlier had been intentional. He wanted to make sure you were watching him, no doubt about that.

"It doesn't seem to be working very well," Choso says as you rest your head on the arm he has wrapped around you. You look up at him as your hand moves to caress his cheek for a moment but as soon as you notice, you pull it back. Even though Choso doesn't seem to mind. It just felt natural, you wanted to touch him as you enjoyed the feel of his hand on your skin as well.

"Being with you helps," you say, without breaking eye contact. That was the truth. Being with him felt peaceful, you didn't have to be afraid that he would snap at any moment, at something you said or did.

You didn't even notice that Nanami and Haibara had already gone inside, presumably to leave the party. Only when Hakari puts out the joint and says goodbye to take Kirara home, you look away from Choso to look at the others.

Gojo does not make any effort to leave until Getou gets up, standing next to Gojo and looking at him expectantly.

"Come on, Satoru," you hear Getou say, "it's almost two o'clock, we have training tomorrow."

"Yes, but not until ten," the man with the white hair replies, not understanding why he should move now. Getou gives him a meaningful look and Gojo's eyes widen as he rose to his feet.

"Oh, uh - let's see what's going on inside then, I guess," he says, propping himself up on his knees to get out of the chair he was sitting in, "see you guys."

Getou waves goodbye before pushing Gojo in front of him towards the patio door.

You’re all alone now, besides a few people standing outside and talking. You admire the night sky for a moment while neither of you says a word. It’s so quiet outside, peaceful even.

"Just the two of us, huh?", you say as you look up at Choso. You think for another moment but then, before he's has a chance to even say anything, you kiss him.

Choso wasn’t exactly surprised and instead kissed you back. His hand, which had just rested on your thigh, moved a little further up until it cupped your ass, moving up under your tiny skirt in a swift motion.

You put your hand on his chest to support yourself and Choso pulls away for a brief moment.

"You're so beautiful," he mutters, looking down at you through heavy eyelids and making you giggle, "I missed you."

Then, your lips meet again. You move to straddle his lap, now sitting on top of him you were the one looking down at him.

"You’re not so bad yourself, y’know," you whisper into his ear as you cradle his face in your hands, your thumb gently caressing the split in his lip.

When he said he missed you, you knew what he meant.

Because you did, too.

Last weekend wasn't the first time you two had kissed. When Megumi had broken up with you, Maki had to study for some important exams and you had forbidden her from rotting with you in your depression cave. To make it easier for her, you had taken yourself out for a few evenings to Yuji’s place. He welcomed you with open arms in his new apartment, which he had just moved into with his brother. This was also the first time you got to know Choso properly, away from parties or those few casual encounters on campus.

It started innocently enough, your movie nights, the two of them watching every romcom with you that you had picked out beforehand. However, Yuji usually had training the next day, so he had to go to bed early. Choso promised to drive you home later, and as soon as Yuji disappeared into his room, you moved on to other things. He showed you some new songs, and sometimes a friend of his would come over and Choso would sell him some weed.

And at the end of the night you would find yourself spread out on his black leather couch, with his head buried between your thighs.

It became a habit until Maki's exams were done and she wanted to spend more time with you.

You were glad that the couch you were sitting on had its back to the window in the kitchen, protecting you from the prying eyes of those who went outside to smoke or enjoy the cool night air. As you climbed onto Choso's lap, your skirt had risen up quite high, almost to your waist but you were past the point of caring what others would think.

You’re planting small kisses up his neck and jaw, watching him and how he enjoyed having you in his embrace. After a little while he pulls you into another kiss, this time you’re feeling exactly how hungry he was for you. You bite down on his bottom lip, hard, before you pull away for a moment to gasp for air. While you were grinding down on him, you could feel the thin fabric of your panties slowly getting coated with your slick as you were searching for some kind of friction.

"How about…", you pause, while kissing his neck up to his earlobe, feeling him slowly but surely getting hard beneath you.

"How about we take this inside, maybe look for an empty room?", you finish your sentence.

You didn't have to ask twice before Choso had already grabbed you. He had one arm around your waist, his other hand digging into your hips while you let out a little squeal before wrapping your legs around his middle. He carried you a few steps until he gently set you down in front of the door into the kitchen.

"You’re going to have to walk real close in front of me," he mutters into your ear as he turns you around to take the lead. You could feel how hard he was already as he was pressed up against you and you couldn’t help but giggle at his remark.

"I promise they’ll be way too drunk to notice," you say, "but let’s get inside and help you with that."

***

"Shit—" You hear Choso curse under his breath as he was standing behind you, pumping his dick in his fist a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. He had you bent over the bathroom sink right in front of him, his other hand digging into the flesh of your hips, surely leaving bruises on your skin.

You hear a loud bang at the door, but decide to ignore it. The person could find another bathroom, you were sure the house was big enough to have a few other options. As the person knocks a second time, this time even louder than the first, you feel Choso getting impatient.

"What the—", he mutters, turning towards the door. "Fuck off," he shouts, getting distracted for just a second while you were so desperate for him to fuck you already. You scoot your ass back against him, feeling the leaking tip of his cock sliding through your dripping wet folds and turning his attention back to you.

"Hold - fuck - hold still," he groans before pushing you down with his hand on your back, holding you in place so you were unable to squirm under his touch.

"How about you hurry up a bit?", you tease from underneath him, earning yourself a slap on your ass almost immediately. You jerk forward a little, not expecting him to do that, but enjoying the stinging sensation to your skin all the same.

You let out a small moan as he pulls you back up against his chest, cupping your breast with one hand while pinching your nipple, "You’re in a hurry now, huh?", he groans and without giving you another heads-up, he pushes into you slowly.

He was stretching you out already without even being all the way in, locking eyes with you in the mirror before bottoming out completely, letting out a loud groan as he did.

Choso watches as your lips formed an O, needy moans escaping your mouth while he is thrusting into your wet pussy at a devilishly slow pace. You could feel the perfect curve and every ridge of his dick, stretching you out so well before he pulls out almost entirely, just the tip prodding at your needy hole.

"Tell me what you want," he whispers into your ear, sending goosebumps all over your body. His hand squeezes your breasts and you moan at his request, his low voice going straight to your core, making you even wetter than you already were.

"Tell me, did you miss me?," he groans, not breaking eye contact with you, "did you miss my dick?" He plants kisses down your neck and before you could give him an answer he pushes into you again, picking up his pace this time. You cry out at the sudden sensation, the stretch making your eyes roll back while loud moans were falling from your lips.

"I miss— fuck…", you whine, "'missed you, 'missed your cock inside of me" You had to grab onto the edge of the sink, unable to form another thought besides how good it felt to have him bully his dick into you.

"Please…", you beg as he continues to fuck into you, holding your trembling body tight against his own.

He watches how your body reacts to him as he was pounding in and out of your pussy relentlessly, your walls squeezing down on his cock so hard he had to use everything he had to not cum into you right then and there.

"Look at you," he moans right into your ear, "look at yourself taking this dick so fucking good."

His hand that was just digging into the soft skin of your hips moves further down, his fingers meeting your slick just seconds after. His thumb starts drawing harsh circles on your clit, earning him a few loud moans that fell from your lips.

"Fuck— Choso, right there, plea—", you whine, eyes squinted shut, "please, 'wanna cum - fuck— don’t stop."

"I said look at yourself," Choso groans into your ear as you suddenly feel him pulling his hand away, forcing you to obey him and open your eyes. You swallow at the reflection you see in the mirror in front of you.

You were already looking so fucked out, mascara smeared along your undereyes. Your tiny denim skirt was dangling around your waist and that high neck, sleeveless crop top was pulled up above your breasts, squeezing them together.

"Good girl," he praises, pressing a kiss to your sticky temple while his fingertips continue to rub and pinch at your clit without any mercy. You cry out, louder than anticipated, and watch how tears start to prickle in the corners of your eyes.

It was too much for you, you were barely able to contain yourself beneath him and you felt yourself getting tighter around him with every harsh thrust of his hips against your ass. Thank god the music outside was so loud, the heavy bass lining up with the lewd noises the both of you made.

"Shit - you’re getting so fucking tight," he grunts before you hear low moans falling from his lips, "you wanna cum, pretty girl?"

All you can do is whine in response, as you already lost your ability to form meaningful sentences a while ago. "I’m gonna - gonna—", you cry, brows knit together at the overwhelming feeling of him hitting your cervix over and over again.

You watch how Choso stares at you through the reflection in the mirror, your body almost going limp as you feel your core tightening and the only thing you were being able to do was moan his name, again and again.

"Then cum for me, babygirl," he whispers, his fingertips circling your nipples and pinching your swollen clit while he fucks into your throbbing cunt, getting you closer and closer to your release, until…

"There you go," Choso coos as he feels your walls pulsating around him. Your fingernails claw and scratch at the arm that he had wrapped around you, while you were trying to hold onto something, anything…

Then your orgasm washes over you and it made your thighs shake almost immediately. Choso doesn't stop fucking you through your overwhelming peak, giving you no time to breathe until he finally cums into you as well, thick ropes of hot and sticky cum painting your pussy white while you had your eyes closed again and you hear him moan into your ear.

You lean back against his muscular chest as the two of you try to catch your breath, raspy moans and small whimpers fall from both of your mouths while neither of you was able to say anything.

You shiver as Choso slides out of you, goosebumps prickling across your body, before he turns you around and you open your eyes to look at him. Your cheeks were flushed and your legs almost too weak to stand on, but you manage to pull your top down, covering yourself up as Choso presses a kiss to your lips.

He helps adjusting your skirt after you put your panties back on, stumbling against him as you were standing on one leg.

"Careful—", he says and catches you, almost giving you a Déjà vu.

"You alway got my back, huh?", you ask playfully while you’re trying to fix your hair and makeup in the mirror.

"Doing my best," he chuckles, pulling up his pants and putting on the hoodie he took off earlier. The shirt he was wearing underneath had stains at the bottom - well, his fault for not taking it off as well. "Let’s get out before they break in the door."

You reach for your bag, now that you can stand in your knee-high boots without holding on to anything, and just as you are about to head for the door, Choso beats you to it.

He holds the door knob as he looks down at you.

"Hey, let’s do that again sometime," he grins and brushes a strand of hair out of your face, "and text me if you want me to get you home."

"You're a gentleman after all," you say and take his hand, grinning as you stand on your tiptoes to give him another kiss on the cheek. "Actually, 'lemme just find Nobara and tell her I’m leaving, I won’t be taking long," you mutter before pulling back.

"I’ll wait outside for you," Choso says after the both of you have left the bathroom. Not a lot of people were still left and those who were, were not paying attention to the both of you. You feel him squeeze your hand once more before he lets go of it and disappears into the hallway.

***

You try and make your way into the kitchen, as a familiar voice startles you.

"Stop using my brother to make him jealous," Yuji says, his voice unusually cold as he suddenly pulls up behind you.

You freeze and turn around, slowly.

"What?", you ask, not willing to believe what you’ve just heard.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but you heard me right," He was serious. Where had he suddenly come from? Had he seen or... heard you?

"It’s not - it’s not like that, I mean, I," you stammered, completely taken by surprise, "I’m not using Choso."

"Honestly, Y/N, I don't care what you say, I care about my brother, and all you've been doing lately is destroying yourself. You don't give a fuck about your friends, we're always here for you, and yet you go back to him every chance you get."

Ouch.

You could tell he was drunk. This was unusual for him, he was an athlete and although he liked to go to parties, he rarely drank alcohol himself, apart from a few shots for fun. And it took a lot to get Yuji drunk, you were speaking from experience.

The words that came out of Yuji's mouth hurt you. He was right, but none of your friends had called you out on your bullshit yet.

"I can't save you, Y/N. I've given up on that, but don't drag Choso into this. He has no bad intentions and he would actually treat you well, I know you don't want that." Yuji was so serious and you couldn't even argue with him because he was right.

"Your brother is a grown man," you reply coldly, not even able to look him directly in the eyes.

"Yeah, exactly, he’s a man. Plus - he likes you."

It wasn't as if you denied the way Choso looked at you with absolute adoration in his eyes. You knew he would move heaven and earth if you asked him for something, and even if he wasn't pushy, you could count on him. He was thoughtful and gentle, he knew what you liked and didn't like, and sex with him was fun, so what exactly were you missing?

"Listen, Yuji, this in none of your business," you say, trying your best to keep your calm, "I don’t need saving and your brother is perfectly capable of looking after himself, so—"

"Yeah, whatever," Yuji barks, taking a sip from the bottle in his hand that you only noticed now, "don't come back crying if he hits you again."

Wow.

You watch him leave as you realize that you've never seen your best friend so upset. You take a step back, startled by the feel of the wall behind you. You feel your way along the cold wall, down the dimly lit hallway, not sure where you want to go, but you wanted to get away from here. Looking for a door to get out, you pass a few couples making out.

You push down the door handles of a number of locked rooms and people coming towards you bumped into you. Some of them apologise, others look you up and down, whistling or shouting something at you, but your tunnel vision prevented you from noticing anything.

You had your guard down while the things Yuji had said to you played over and over in your head.

Just as you reached the door at the end of the corridor, it was a glass door and you could see the starry night sky through it, someone slammed you hard into the wall. You were pushed into the chest of a much taller person who opened the door to your right with one hand and pushed you in with the other.

"Hey—", you protested, but you had no chance. The man was much stronger than you and at least two heads taller. The familiar scent that rose to your nostrils as you were pressed against his chest set off alarm bells ringing in your head.

And as you looked up, even the last doubts you naively had were erased.

"Megumi…", you gasp, and immediately try to get a few steps between the both of you. You hear him lock the door behind him and you instantly feel like a cornered animal. Your eyes scan the room for ways to escape, but unless you wanted to climb out the window, the door was the only way out.

He looked you straight in the eye, all emotion gone from his face. It was obvious that you, on the other hand, were scared. You hadn't seen anyone outside and you were alone in some guest bedroom that was located in a part of the house where you couldn’t even hear anymore music playing.

You clutched your bag and pulled your big leather jacket, which you had put on on the way out, tightly around you.

As if that would somehow protect you.

Megumi was still standing by the door, motionless. The grin on his lips never reached his eyes as he stared at you.

"I heard you were having fun in there," he says as you watch him closely.

Fuck.

"Yeah, and I want to leave now," you reply, trying your best to contain your voice, "why don’t you go back to Yue and leave me alone?"

"Mhm." He seems like he’s thinking about it for a moment. "I don’t think so."

You gather all your courage as you decide to walk towards him.

"Cut your bullshit, Megs," you demand, "let me out of here."

He grabs you roughly as you try to reach for the door, pushing you back into the room.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?", you hiss, not willing to hold back anymore.

"You show up here, with your ex-girlfriend, making out with her, in front of me, in front of all my friends, and when you don't get the reaction you want, you jump me?" You almost yell at him and he was still just standing there in front of you with no reaction.

"I'm not doing this anymore Megumi, this isn't one of your little games anymore," you add, on the verge of tears, "why are you doing this to me?"

"I'll do whatever I want to you," his voice was as calm as always, scaring the living shit out of you as he walks towards you.

"I don't care about Yue, she was just, well, there," he says, watching you closely, "I wanted to know if you meant any of what you were saying last weekend, but as soon as your cute ego gets hurt you’re letting the next best guy fuck you in the bathroom."

You feel tears prickling in your eyes, and your attempts to blink them away only cause them to trickle down your cheeks.

"Oh," he mocks you, "now you’re crying."

"Fuck you," you hiss and wipe the tears from your face.

When he was standing right in front of you, you could smell not only his familiar scent, but also the smell of alcohol as he spoke to you. He was tense, you could feel it, and in the darkness his eyes looked almost pitch black as he stared at you.

"Watch how you talk to me," he says through clenched teeth, "just because you can't stand that you act like a fucking slut every time, just to get my attention."

What he said made you cry even more and you didn't bother trying to wipe off the tears anymore.

"I don’t wanna talk to you right now," you sob, but of course he doesn’t care what you want.

"But I wanna talk to you," he barks, grabbing you by your wrists as you try to shuffle away from him, "what is it about him that you go back for a second and a third, huh? Want me to beat him up for good this time?"

He was squeezing your wrists so hard that it hurt.

"I’ll kill him if he ever touches you again," he spits, "fucking dirty whore."

You weren't sure what hurt more, his words, or the way he twisted your arms to bring you closer to his face.

"Shut the fuck up and leave me alone," you manage to get out, "you’re pathetic. I don’t need you."

You try to break free of his grip a second time, only this time he lets go of you to push you away from him. He does this with such force that you lose your balance and stumble backwards into the bed frame, which was now right behind you.

You land on the mattress and before you know it, you feel his hand clench around your throat, pulling you up to his eye level again. You have to stand on your tiptoes to take some of the pressure off your neck.

He didn’t squeeze much but it still hurt. His grip was strong as ever and you couldn't move, so you stayed still, hoping he wouldn't hurt you any more.

You grimaced in pain and tried to look him straight in the eye. Somehow he had to realize what he was doing, didn't he? He was delirious and that frightened you. You knew this kind of situation all too well and it made you freeze. There was nothing you could do about it, you could only beg him to stop or try and keep still.

"Megumi, please, I’m sorry, you’re— you’re right," you sob, cheeks wet with tears, "just let me go, please…"

Suddenly you feel his hand tighten around your throat, but you don't realize it until he grabs you by your neck and slams you right back into the mattress behind you. You have no time to react, you just feel a sharp pain as your head hits the headboard and then he finally presses down hard on your throat. You're helpless, gasping for air, barely able to process what he's just done.

"You’re such a fucking whore, Y/N," he fumes, shaking you and pushing you even deeper into the mattress, "you deserve to get treated exactly like the little fucking slut you are."

You whimper and cry, while hearing the blood rushing through your ears as you struggle against his grip.

Panic rises in you and you feel your eyes begin to sting with more hot tears running down your cheeks. In your desperate struggle you feel your muscles ache and your body give in, the shock knocking the last bit of air out of your lungs and you can't breathe, you know you're about to pass out.

"Tell me again who’s pathetic?" His face was right next to yours as he whispered into your ear.

You couldn't stop crying, even though you couldn't even make a sound. You were sure he was going to kill you this time.

You had to fight back, but he was so much stronger than you.

"Megumi…", you groan.

"I— I need to—", you cough, desperately trying to claw at his arms, "breathe…please…stop—"

You cry and plead and try to free yourself, all while your strength slowly but surely leaves your body. And then, just milliseconds before you were about to lose consciousness, you feel the air flowing back into your lungs.

You're so out of breath, coughing and choking and crying all at the same time, while your throat burns so badly, that for a moment you're not even sure he's really let you go.

The moment he lets go of you and stands up, you pull your legs towards you and crawl as far away from him as you can, putting your hands around your neck for protection, pulling the high-neck of your top up over the bruises that were probably already starting to form.

You shake uncontrollably and can hardly stop crying, while he just stands there watching you. You wrap your arms around your legs, concentrating on your breathing as your body continues to shake.

Then he turns and leaves the room without another word to you.

And you wonder if this is your fault.

***

"I'm so sorry," you say, standing behind Choso after you finally found your way out of the house. He was sitting on the steps outside the main entrance, a bottle of beer in his hand, waiting for you. You snuggle into your much too large jacket as you sit down next to him.

"You've been gone for half an eternity." Choso gently nudged into your side and you wince, barely noticeable.

"Nobara was throwing up downstairs," you lie, "I couldn’t leave her."

"Oh, really," he says, you couldn't know he'd seen her leave almost an hour ago, "poor girl, I hope she's feeling better now.

You say nothing, tugging at the high neckline of your top, your legs bouncing nervously.

Choso notices and puts a hand on your thigh. You flinch again and this time he feels it.

"Are you all right?", he asks worriedly, looking at you. Your long hair hides the bruises on your neck, but what it can't hide is your blank stare, your swollen lips and your red, watery eyes.

You nod.

"Yeah, I'm just cold," you say, trying to smile. Your throat's still hurting when you speak.

He puts the bottle to the side and shuffles closer to you.

The both of you were sitting on the stairs for a while, neither one of you saying a single word. Choso sensed that something must have happened, but what could he do? He knew you lied to him about Nobara, so he figured you wouldn't tell him anything he didn't want to hear.

"Sometimes I just want what they have, y’know?", you sigh after a while and lean into Chosos side, resting your head on his shoulder for a moment.

"I know I will never find that kinda love."

You're talking about the scene that took place in front of you, a scene that caught your attention immediately. Yuta and Maki were about to leave the party together, and Maki was completely drunk. Yuta had his arm around her to manoeuvre her into the car. They both giggled while Maki tried to wrestle her boyfriend, making it harder than it had to be for the poor boy to get her home quickly.

As you look away, you notice that Yuji was sitting in the passenger’s seat with the window down.

He was getting impatient, waiting for them to finally get into the car, and as he turned to see what was taking them so long, your eyes met briefly.

You saw him open his mouth as if to say something, but then he noticed Choso sitting next to you and he immediately turned away.

He was still mad at you.

Yuta had finally made it and Maki was sitting safe and sound in the back seat. He planted a kiss on her forehead before gently closing the door behind her and walking around the car. You looked away but he caught you watching the scene and stopped for a moment, flashing you both a smile before he waved goodbye, got into the car and drove off.

"What do you mean?" you hear Choso's voice after you have sat in silence for another while. The car disappeared and you just stared into the distance, trying to find the right words.

"I don't know, there's just no...", you pause for a moment, thinking how pathetic you're going to sound, "there's just no darkness."

That's it. Everything about their relationship was genuine, they cared for each other. There was not a hint of jealousy, no one was trying to control or manipulate the other.

"It's just sweet, they're just... sweet," you swallow, feeling so vulnerable in that moment, "they don't hate each other, there's just so much love. I don't know if that would ever be enough for me. Doesn't it get boring?"

Once again, you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

"Sometimes it feels like I'm going crazy," you mumble.

None of you says a word after that. At some point, you lift your head from Choso's shoulder to look at him, almost as if you want him to say something.

"You’re not," he says, his voice sounding determined.

"I mean, you're pretty fucked up, but you're not crazy." Choso pulls two cigarettes out of a pack and hands you one, lighting yours first. He stuffs the pack back into his jacket and takes a few puffs, immediately blowing the smoke out into the cool night air before turning back to you,

"I don’t fuck with insane chicks, learned my lesson."

He nudges your side again to make sure you understand that he was joking, but you were already too far up in your head. You smoke your cigarette, breathing in the smoke as if it might bring you some kind of clarity.

"I think I'm going to get back together with him," you whisper, almost as if you don't want to hear what's coming out of your own mouth.

Choso does not answer.

Of course he doesn’t.

What was he supposed to say? He didn't know what exactly was going on between you and him, but at this point he knew that there was something, at least from his side. It was unfair of you to talk to him about it, of all people, and at the same time he knew that you couldn't talk to anyone else at the moment.

"Y/n, tell me, what do you want to hear from—"

You cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"It's a mistake, right?"

"Don't do it, just…", he pauses and takes a drag, "don't do it."

"I don't know if I can help it," you tell him, sounding defeated.

Inhaling, you feel what you had been blocking out all along. Your throat hurts. The cigarette smoke that keeps pouring into your lungs only makes it worse, and the sudden pain in your chest when you inhale too deeply makes you wince.

You knew that those bruises would form. Like splashes of blue and green paint they would cover your neck, spreading all around your throat.

Choso doesn’t reply to this, either.

His head was hanging low. Not because he was disappointed or pissed off that he wasn’t able to make another move on you tonight, but because he was afraid to lose you.

Because he knew he couldn’t really do anything to save you.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do or the rest of the world does, really," he sighs and pulls you in, wrapping his arm around your waist and letting you rest your head against his chest. He wanted to say so much more but he stopped himself before opening his mouth.

He knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

@bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9 @arminsgfloll @chifuyusfingers @kokonoiscoconut thx for motivating me to keep on writing <3

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