#silly Stancy drabble

[whereyabeenloca]

Nancy is nine years old when she first meets Steve Harrington. She has her long brown hair twisted in a neat bun at the top of her head, and white fleece-lined tights to keep her warm in her ballerina costume, and she is holding her little brother’s hand with impatience, huffing to get him to walk a little faster. “C’mon, Mike, just three more houses, and we can be done,” she tells him, the five year old dragging his feet tiredly against the asphalt. Their mom is at home, the first year she’s letting Nancy and him go off on their own, and she is desperate to prove her independence, that she is responsible enough to take care of both of them as long as they stay within the neighborhood.

“Nancy, my feet hurt,” he whines, because he has no idea yet how fun the night is, the older kids in their masks scaring him and he is normally allowed only one or two pieces of candy from the treasure trove, but he is in kindergarten now, and she wants so badly to help him grow up. Mike plops down on the sidewalk and has to let go of her hand because of it, making her jack-o-lantern basket fling and spill candy. She sighs and has to carefully crouch so she doesn’t stain her costume, and her fingertips bump into someone else’s. It’s an older boy, maybe a fourth grader instead of third like she’s in, and he’s in a Superman costume, with fluffy brown hair that’s been carefully gelled into the signature curl at his forehead. He gives her a crooked grin that shows off his missing bottom tooth then goes back to picking up her treats, helping her stand up again so she doesn’t need to touch the asphalt to bounce up.

“Here, if you’re trying to just get more before taking home, then just, have this,” he says as he reaches into his own basket, pulling out a fistful to put in both her own and her little brother’s pillowcase. Nancy blinks at him, narrowing her eyes as she waits for the catch- for him to push her down or something, or snatch away Mike’s entire bag. But he just gives her a funny look, like he’s confused as to why she looks ready to punch him, and then that crooked smile is back, albeit a little more cautious this time. “My name’s Steve? Steve Harrington?” The little boy offers like it’s a question and then holds out his hand for her, like his dad had just recently taught him to shake hands and he’s all too happy to do it every time he meets someone new.

Nancy glances down at it and then back up to him before shyly placing her hand in his, squeezing and swinging once before letting go. “Nancy Wheeler, how do you do?” She asks, in a voice trying to mimic Grace Kelly’s, like she’s trying to be more grown up than she actually is. Steve’s smile broadens and he glanced over his shoulder when someone calls his name. “Thank you, for the candy.”

“No problem, Nancy Wheeler. Happy Halloween!” He calls before he’s jogging back up to the group of boys all making kissy faces at him until his ears turn as vivid pink as her leotard. She cocks her head, curious and contemplative, before reaching down to grab Mike up by the elbow to steer him back to their house.

—.—

Nancy is two months shy from turning sixteen when she sees Steve again, actually sees him, not just the facade of bravado and cockiness he loves to show off at school. She is with her mom going grocery shopping, helping her pick out some apples for a pie they’re going to bake this weekend, when she hears a chortle and a smack of someone’s shoulder. Turning her head back to see what the noise was, she sees Steve on the other side of the produce section, attempting very badly to juggle some grapefruits with a fashionable older woman that she can only assume is Mrs. Harrington, who has the same lovely brown eyes as he does that are rolling at her son fondly.

“Poor thing, hey, Nancy, don’t stare,” Karen chides her and starts pushing the cart. Nancy straightens and starts to follow her, her mom leaning in closer to whisper, “That’s the first I’ve seen of Patricia in God, weeks now. She hasn’t been to bridge in over a month now. It’s just terrible what her husband did.”

“What did Mr. Harrington do?” She asks, not exactly discreet about her nosiness which makes her mother cast another glance in her direction.

“Well, he.. He had brought another woman to their house, while Patricia was out doing some shopping and her son I think was at school. He came home and found them together.”

“Steve did? Her son?”

“Yes, and don’t you say a word about it, Nancy. I’m serious, if she knew I even breathed a word about it, oh. She would be furious. Her husband is just. Well, he’s not a very good man. And I’m sure it would just be devastating to her reputation, if everyone talks about it. All the bridge ladies know, but I don’t know about anyone else. Anyways, we shouldn’t be gossiping about it. I am just- glad to see her smile again. Lord knows she must not be doing much of that lately,” Karen sighs, returning to look at the list she’d neatly written on yellow lined paper, and Nancy furrows her brow a little bit before turning her head in their direction again.

Steve is absorbed in his own world with his mom, clearly being silly, which he’s well known for of course. He’s the class clown, always the loudest in the room, has a head of hair every girl in school has imagined running their fingers through. And yet here she is, in the middle of Piggly Wiggly, taking such an intimate glance into his own private world and finding he is absolutely not like she had assumed he would be. That he doesn’t care if it’s lame to be shopping with his mom like he’s a kid again; he’s jumping on the cart to push it and teasing her and acting like he’s ten again because his mother is probably desperately lonely, heartbroken. She feels something twist in her gut, pursing her mouth a little, and decides later that night, when she is all alone in her bedroom staring up at her ceiling, that she is going to find a reason to talk to him at school the next day.

—.—

Nancy is eighteen and barely holding it all together the next time she sees him. She’s talked to three different cops so far and none of them are taking her seriously about Victor Creel, all of them trying to steer her in the direction they want the case to be solved, Fred’s body having been taken to the morgue only a few hours before. She is getting impatient, desperate for someone to just listen to her. Her eyes glance over when she sees another car pull up and suddenly her heart leaps when her peripheral catches a very familiar head of hair, broad shoulders, and tan skin. Something sparks in her gut and she can’t quite name it, but she knows she has felt it before, has had this pattern come up over and over again. Because for as much as she loves mysteries, there is one puzzle she has never been able to quite work out, and it is standing only a hundred feet away with several kids in tow.

Her brow pulls together and she has to swallow thickly to keep herself from tearing up, raising her fingers to signal him. I see you. Thank you.

His hand raises up to hers in return, just a flick of a gesture, a salutation. Don’t mention it. I’m here. I’m here for you.

Nancy takes a shaky breath and tries to drown out the sound of her racing heartbeat with the new chief of police’s monotone, something like anticipation in her belly, like maybe she’s a little bit closer to solving the mystery that is and has always been Steve Harrington.

[irndad]

“people are talking about us” with Steve would be absolutely adorable

a/n: takes place when they’re both in high school! post stancy break up. 

People are talking about them.

It’s never anything specific but Steve’s not an idiot. He knows he’s got a reputation at this school, and he knows that when he’s spending time with a girl, it means something. It means that people will talk.

They talk about how often they’re together, how Steve’s always hanging on to her every word, how he drives her home and how she’s always at the basketball games, ever since they started hanging out. It’s easy for people to assume that she’s someone he’s got his eye on. That she might be his girlfriend.

But she’s not.

She’s his friend. Just that.

It’s easy how people would think that, with how they act. Because she really is brilliant, the kind of wonderful that makes you light up when you see her. She’s kind, too, the sort of warmth you can’t fake, genuine in her affectations when it’d be so easy to fake. She’s his good luck charm, at games, as silly as it sounds. She smiles at him from up on the bleachers and it’s like he can do anything.

When people talk, they wonder if they’re together.

Right now, she’s sitting across from him, at his house, helloing him study for an exam he’s got coming up. And it’s so stupid, because Steve knows who he is. He knows that if this was any other girl, he could lean in and have what he wants, wouldn’t get so nervous, so hung up on what he says and how he says it and if she’ll like him.

The thing about it is, knowing her, liking her (because if its anything more than like he might die, he’s not ready for that), it’s hard. Because he remembers how it ended with Nancy, how she’d wanted someone else when he was trying so hard to be everything she needed.

And now, he likes this beautiful girl with a perfect smile, who hums under her breath and fiddles with her hair and always, always thinks the best of him when even he doesn’t. She thinks he’s kind, and good, and likes him for more than what people say, and he wants the rumors to be true, so so badly.

“People are talking about us,” he blurts out, sharply, interrupting the peaceful quiet, and her eyes snap up to meet his gaze, and her expression is unreadable.

Until… it’s kind of not. Because she sucks in a sharp breath and looks, sad, for a moment. Then, she presses her mouth into a thin line, and looks back up at him.

“Yeah? What’re they saying?”

“That we…that we’re, you, that we’re dating.” He’s so goddamn awkward about this, and she’s already not happy about this, and he really shouldn’t have brought it up-

“I’m sorry, Steve,” and what?

“Sorry?”

“I know I’m not exactly your type,” she says, and his head is spinning, “And I’m sorry people are saying that, I can see if I can get them to stop.”

And- that doesn’t make sense. Literally none of that makes sense. Because for one, he doesn’t have a type, thank you very much, but if he did- he’s pretty sure the most beautiful girl he’s ever met would probably fall under that. She’s- she’s been all he can think about for weeks now.

“What?” he says because he’s an idiot, come on you jackass, say something charming-

“I’m- it’s fine, Steve, it’s just high school shit-“

“You’re my type,” he blurts out again, because idiot, “I mean. You- You’re great. Beautiful, really pretty, I don’t know if I’ve told you that before. Because you are, and I don’t mind people thinking that, and if I did it would only be because you don’t like that and that wouldn’t be cool and- yeah. You’re great.”

She blinks, and he’s fucking mortified, pretty sure he’s bright red and she’s going to reject him. She’s got such pretty eyes though, and she’s so cute, her head cocked just a bit to the left and he’s made a fool of himself in front of the girl he really, really wants to like him.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

She’s wearing perfume, a little bit of it, and she’s close to him, smiling just the tiniest bit. He loves her smile, and hates how she’s turned him into the kind of guy who notices that. And she’s leaning in, so slow, like he could pull away if he wants to. As if he doesn’t think about kissing her every time she laughs, every time she looks at him. As if every time she tells him that he’s her friend, he doesn’t imagine exactly what it would be like to be the one who gets to be her everything.

When she kisses him, she’s grinning, the slightest upward tick of her lips. She smells like vanilla and holds him like he’s precious, and he, well.

People talk about the two of them at school, the next day. They talk about how Steve Harrington has a new girlfriend, and how he’s smiling more than anyone’s ever seen him before.

steve harrington drabbles are open