come back to me • part two

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Steve said, lips firmed in a line as the curly haired boy in the passenger seat gave him a look.

“What? It’s not my fault!” Dustin protested, a hand clasped to his chest.

“Oh, it’s absolutely your fault. In fact, all of you little shitheads are guilty,” glancing at himself in the rearview mirror Steve tried to get his hair to lay flat, but the cowlick in the back kept flipping out like a middle finger at 7:43am. He swore under his breath before turning back to Dustin, “I’m gonna be late for class. So Thursday? You better be at your place by 4 or your ass can start walking to the arcade.”

The younger boy’s mouth fell open, scoffing, so offended, “Uncalled for. And mean.”

“S’what you get for not being able to drive,” Steve shoved his door open and piled out, Dustin following close behind.

“Yeah, well. Once I can you’re gonna miss me!”

“Hah! Not a chance. 4 o’clock, Henderson. Not a minute later or you can get cozy with your stupid bike,” Steve shot, pointing a finger at Dustin as they parted ways, and the younger boy replied by flipping him off. Both hands. “Oh, real mature!”

“Kiss my ass!”

Grumbling, Steve let the boy have the last word and half-jogged across the quad toward the side entrance to the school where Tommy was waiting for him.

Carol was tucked in against the freckle-faced boy, mouth twisted in a grimace and Steve felt his stomach drop. The last people he wanted to see.

“The hell are you doing with that dweeb?” Tommy snarked, jerking his head back at where Dustin had gone into the computer lab.

“Just gave him a ride,” Steve lied because no one would believe him about Dart, hell sometimes even he didn’t believe himself, “His mom gave me twenty bucks.”

“Oh yeah? Well, you can just give that to me now,” Tommy shouldered into Steve, reaching a hand out and mock-grabbing at his wallet, “Its Wednesday! I don’t see you makin’ any moves yet.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Steve shoved him off and Tommy just started laughing. Shaking his head and clicking his tongue at him.

“What? Where’s your cute little sign, Stevie boy? Tick tock!”

“I said shut up!” Steve turned and got in Tommy’s face, eyes flickering with a challenge. King Steve shit and Tommy’s grin pulled up wickedly.

“Whoa, touchy this morning. You on your period?”

“I’m gonna ask tonight.”

“Whatever you say, Harrington. You got two days left,” Tommy murmured, giving Carol a squeeze at his side and she giggled as he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly.

“Two days, King Steve,” Carol purred, a more subtle taunt, but somehow worse than Tommy and Steve jammed his tongue into his cheek, staring them both down.

He hadn’t exactly planned on jumping the question on you today, in fact he didn’t have a plan at all, but studying had gone well the last two nights. Much better than he’d expected it to and you told him he could come by again after school if he needed it, but now he was feeling nervous. Anxious. Unsure. You were being so nice to him, helping him and not asking for anything in return and here he was playing some game. Like all the assholes you said you hated and he couldn’t help the pang of guilt that squeezed tight in his chest.

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late,” Steve muttered, shoving past them and into the school. Class couldn’t be over soon enough.

“Scoot over.”

“What? I’m not even that close to you, there’s plenty of–”

“You’re on my side, just–” you reached a hand out to shove at Steve’s thigh, trying but failing to move him off the edge of your cushion and he only settled in further. “Seriously, Harrington?”

“Just ask the next question. C’mon, I got it,” he waved a hand at you and the notecards stacked in a pile on the side table. It earned him an eye roll and a sigh.

“You’re impossible,” you grumbled, tucking yourself as far away from him as you could and grabbed one of the flash cards, fixing him with a glare.

It was now the third day he’d come over after school to study and even though you’d told him on Monday that you needed to stop at seven he somehow managed to hang around. Weaseled his way into your room as you picked out notes on your guitar, lounging lazily on your bed while you sat in the window playing.

You almost told him you wanted to be alone, almost made him go home, but it was nice. Playing with someone else around. Nice to have someone to talk to, to laugh with, and god. The way he looked at you, eyes all brown sugar and honey, you couldn’t say no.

Especially when he told you how he liked the sound. How well you played and it didn’t seem like a ploy, wasn’t a ruse, he meant it. He actually sat and listened quietly and smiled, tapping his fingers along with the notes and it made your stomach flip over. Made you feel silly.

Because he was a jock. An asshole. King Steve. He wasn’t supposed to be all sweet and encouraging and teasing you and giving you looks like he did. Right? Right?

And now it was Wednesday and Steve Harrington sitting in your living room felt kind of normal and he was funny. Smug, but kept up with your banter and actually answered a few questions correctly for once and you wondered when it would all end. When would it all come crashing down around you? King Steve jumping out from behind the curtain with some shitty comment loaded and at the ready.

You felt your guard still up, not letting him in completely, but he was wearing you down and it scared you. What you wanted. What the feelings stirring in your chest meant. Especially when he was sitting so close and…

“When did the Revolutionary War start?” your eyes flicked up to look over at him as he picked at a loose thread on the arm of the couch.

“Uh–” he tilted his head back against the cushion and screwed his face up in thought, tongue flicking out across his lips, working through it. “April something? 1774?” he turned to you, brows lifted in hopes he got it right, but your smirk told him no and he groaned, “Jesus, can we take a break?”

“Oh, now you want a break? C’mon, 1775! That’s so easy!”

“Yeah, for you maybe! Not everyone’s a genius, genius,” he teased and you huffed a laugh. Damn him.

“Poor baby,” you snarked, nudging his knee with yours and he grumbled under his breath enough that you took pity on him. “Fine, break. I need to play a little bit anyway,” tossing the notecards back onto the table you stood from the couch and stretched, cut-off sweater lifting just high enough that the dip of your lower back peeked out and Steve couldn’t help looking.

You were right there and shit, you were cute, and his cheeks grew warm, flushed and pink, and for once in his life he didn’t know what to do.

Usually he’d reach over and grab Nancy, pulling her down into the couch with him or dig his fingers into her waist, reaching and wanting more, but this was different. You weren’t Nancy or Tammy Thompson or Allie Parker. You were different, but then he heard Tommy. Taunting. Laughing. Smirking.

I got a proposition for you. Little game, huh? I dare you to get a freak to catch feelings for you. You’re losing your grip on shit, King Steve.

He had to ask. Tonight. No, he hadn’t planned on it, but he could already see Tommy waiting for him in the quad. Arms crossed and a stupid smirk on his face. Ready to dig into him and give him shit and tell him he was a pussy. That he’d lost it over a bet and Steve already felt fed up. Anxious. Frustrated. But then he looked at you again and the anger in his chest stuttered. Would he hurt you just for the clout?

“Uh, can I stay? If it’s okay with you?” he choked out realizing he was still staring. Clearing his throat he dragged his eyes away from you and stood from his spot on the couch.

“Again?” fell out in surprise and your cheeks turned pink as his face shifted, apologetic and a little startled, and it made your stomach flip over.

“S-sorry, I can go–”

“No! No, it’s okay. I just–” you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to pick your words, “–its just funny. Steve Harrington wanting to hang out.”

His lips tugged up into a lopsided smile, brows pinched together in mild confusion, “Why is that funny?”

“Are you joking?”

“No?”

Standing just a few steps apart you laughed. You couldn’t help it. It was incredulous and amused and bewildered and he tried to laugh with you, but clearly wasn’t getting it.

“Steve, look at us. Carol throws fries at me at lunch,” it might’ve been a little too deadpan, but you didn’t shy away from it and he just stood there for a minute letting your words settle in the space between you before looking down at his feet.

Steve.

The first time you’d said his actual name. Not Harrington. Not dingus. Not genius. Not idiot. How was he supposed to do this? Make you fall for something that wasn’t real? It was easier when you were at school and not sat close on the couch. Easier when he didn’t know you. Easier when he hadn’t been in your room, but now…

“Yeah, she sucks.”

You snorted and covered your mouth, waiting for him to take it back, but he didn’t and you let your hand fall away. “She sucks so much,” you said, braver, and he looked over at you with a grin.

“A real piece of work.”

“Oh my god, Harrington. I’m telling,” you teased and the air grew lighter as you traced the steps to the stairs, Steve following behind you still grinning and laughing.

“Okay, but you’re gonna have to avenge me after Tommy kicks my ass.”

“Kicks your ass?”

“Yeah, you know, come to find out I’m actually shit at a fist fight. Everyone else: 2. Steve: 0.”

“Did you just talk about yourself in the third person?” you half-laughed, crinkling up your nose and looking over your shoulder at him as you reached the landing and he played it off so easy.

“Yeah and?”

“You’re a weirdo Steve Harrington.”

“Been called worse, princess.”

“Shut up.”

It was dark in your room when you reached the doorway, Steve hovering over your shoulder waiting for you to go in. As you clicked on the lamp everything was washed in gold, warm and hazy, and things fell together like they had the last two nights.

You went in first to grab your guitar. Steve followed suit and kicked his shoes off before taking up his now usual spot. Flat on his back in the middle of your bed, eyes wandering the band posters on your ceiling while you perched yourself on the window seat.

The silence between the notes you played had been uncomfortable at first and you’d felt the need to fill it with stupid conversation, but now only two days later it was easy. Or easier. Especially as Steve kicked his feet off the end of your mattress while he read one of your Thrasher magazines and you smiled a little at the thought of it.

Were you friends?

Plucking out a few chords you hummed along with it and scribbled a few more lyrics down in your tattered notebook. Steve looked up over the edge of his magazine, but didn’t say anything and you tried to ignore it, tried to keep playing, but you could feel him. Still looking.

“Can I help you?” you glanced up at him through your lashes and quirked a brow, a bit unimpressed but tolerant and he grinned.

“No, just sounds nice,” he replied, voice all sugary sweet and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“It’s hard to focus when you’re staring,” you pushed, setting your pen down and he raised his brows in mock surprise.

“Sorry, I’ll just–” Steve held up his magazine and tucked back into it and you shook your head, taking up your pen, but a few minutes later he was looking. Again.

This time you put your guitar aside and tilted your head, lips twisted half in thought and half in a scowl. “What?” you prodded, but this time he softened and you felt your stomach flip over. You wished you hadn’t asked.

“So listen,” he started, setting the magazine down and you instinctively tucked your knees into your chest, his tone making you feel all kinds of things. Anxious, anticipation, excitement? Worry. “You don’t seem like the type to go to football games or dances and all that, but–”

“Oh no. No,” you cut him off, feet hitting the floor as you abruptly stood from the window seat, “Absolutely not. Don’t finish that question.”

“Oh, c’mon princess! You don’t even know what I’m gonna–”

“And god I hate that. Don’t call me princess.”

Steve was standing now too, socked feet almost toe to toe with your bare ones as he crowded into you and you could smell fresh laundry. Mint gum. Cedar like the tree outside your window and boy. Your head felt hazy and you swallowed thick, kept your eyes on his, chin tilted up in defiance as he grinned down at you just a little.

“Why? Just go with me. To homecoming,” there, it was out now and as he looked down at you, you made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

“No, I hate that shit. It’s just a bunch of jocks parading around and slapping each other on the ass for a couple of hours before everyone crams into the gym to grind on each other,” you muttered, still a touch defensive, but softening the longer he looked at you.

“Okay, so maybe we watch a little of the game and then we can ditch. Do whatever you want,” he offered, still so close to you and you felt yourself giving in.

“Do you really want to take me?” you asked and his grin cracked, thoughts of Tommy and the bet swept out the window with the look in your eyes and he stuttered over his words.

“Y-yeah, course. W-why would I ask you if I didn’t?”

“Because. You’ve lived right there your whole life and you’ve never once said hi to me,” you pointed a finger through your curtains over to his room next door, “C’mon, Harrington. Why are you here?”

Steve’s heart was racing. He knew why he was here originally. Knew he wanted to shut Tommy up. Knew he didn’t want to admit he was losing his grip on shit. Didn’t want to be perceived as weak or whipped. Like the break up with Nancy didn’t matter, but it did. And he was hurt and he was losing his grip, but when he was with you it didn’t suck so bad and he could be himself and you laughed at his dumb jokes. Held him to his to shit and didn’t shy away and god, he liked you.

“Okay, fine. I’ve been an asshole, but can’t I change? Can’t I want to hang out with you? What’s so wrong with that?” and with those words he knew he was done playing the game, he meant what he’d said and the sudden confession felt freeing. Terrifying, but like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he felt his heart thudding hard against his chest. Waiting for you.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, eyes searching his, looking for the punch line and waiting for the gotcha! moment, but it didn’t come and you bit the inside of your cheek. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to be realistic, but he was making it so damn hard.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you finally said, voice soft and low, reluctantly letting your chin dip back down. “I just–”

“You just what? C’mon. Come with me. Please?”

A no bubbled up in your chest almost immediately for preservation, survivor’s instinct, and it was like he sensed it. Lifting his hand to your cheek he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear and as his fingers brushed against your skin you felt the embers in your chest flicker, cracking and snapping into flames. Breath hitching in your throat you took a small step back, enough to gather yourself, and looked back up at him with a small scowl.

“Fine, but I’m not staying past kickoff. And I want pizza. And ice cream. Two scoops,” you demanded and it pulled a grin from him, all smug and shit and you shook your head trying to fight off a smile of your own. “Wipe that stupid thing off your face,” you grumbled and he laughed.

“No, don’t think I will. Think I’ll keep it. People tell me I’ve got a nice smile.”

“That’s not a smile, Harrington. That’s a certified shit-eating grin and it doesn’t become you.”

“Oh yeah? Well you should try it more often, I like when you smile,” he shot back and it caught you off guard and your lips parted, trying to find words but at a loss.

I like it when you smile. I like it.

Taking another step back you curled back up on the window bench, Steve looking at you like he could do it all day, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks,” came out soft, tentative, and he smiled. One that pulled up at the corner of his lips ever so gently, crinkled in the corners of his eyes, so fucking fond and sweet and he shook his head.

“You’re welcome.”

Steve had stayed late and somewhere around eleven you forgot about your guitar and instead took up a spot next to him on your mattress. Thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. Talking about school. About college. About how neither of you wanted to go because what a waste of money and maybe working at Family Video or the mall wasn’t that bad.

You told him your parents were gone a lot and it was mostly just you and your sister. Fighting over clothes and eating cereal for dinner and he’d laughed. Commiserated with you because his parents were never home and it had its perks. Staying up as late as he wanted, eating pizza all the time, no one bugging him about his grades. He’d told you to come swim in his heated pool sometime because it was like a giant hot tub this time of year and you’d blushed at the thought of him in swim trunks.

Finally he left a little after midnight, eyes heavy and reluctant, and you wondered what it would be like to fall asleep next to him. What it would be like to wake up next to him. And when you opened your eyes the next morning you saw the Thrasher magazine he’d thumbed through sitting just under your pillow.

Most nights you didn’t dream, but last night. Oh last night. You’d dreamt of Steve. And that smile. The one that made your stomach flip over. The one that made you feel dizzy. Wrapped itself around you soft and warm like summer and oh my god he’d asked you to Homecoming.

Well. To kickoff and then pizza and ice cream and you’d agreed, but what was happening? You couldn’t deny the feelings that were flickering under the surface. The ones that only happened when you had a stupid crush, and they were made even worse by the fact that it was Steve.

Steve Harrington.

King Steve.

It all felt like a joke, but he’d been so sincere standing there in your room, glowing in the soft light from your lamp and maybe you’d been too hasty. Too caught up in how it made you feel and as you rolled over to look out the window you thought maybe you should cancel. Tell him you weren’t feeling well. Find Eddie on Friday instead and go smoke out under the bleachers and make fun of all the cheerleaders, but as you turned your cheek into your pillow you caught fresh laundry. Spearmint. Cedar and Steve and dammit. Who were you kidding, you couldn’t cancel.

You left the house way earlier than usual to avoid having to see him, the maroon BMW still sitting in his driveway. It wasn’t like you to shy away from anyone, but this was all so new. Uncharted. Untouched and unknown and maybe if you saw him again alone something bad would happen. He’d realize he’d fucked up and take it all back. So you’d wait until first period science and it’d be better. Right?

“Tommy,” Carol was practically whining, sitting in Tommy’s lap with his head tucked into her neck and he huffed a laugh against her skin pulling a breathless giggle from her.

Wrong. Not better.

Paired up into groups of four you were all crowded around the square desks with beakers and vials of liquids and materials for an experiment and of course your group had landed you with Steve. And Tommy and Carol.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath, putting a hand up to your face between you and the disgusting display of PDA happening across the table.

“Sorry,” Steve had muttered under his breath to you, sheepish and shying away from it just as much as you were. He knew he’d been just as bad with Nancy and watching it now made him feel like an idiot.

He’d tried to help a little, but Tommy kept distracting him and surprise. You were carrying the majority of the work. Taking all the notes, prepping everything Mr. Nelson had set out for the experiment, even wrote down the stupid equation used to find the correct amounts of elements, but no one cared.

You felt yourself growing irritated. At tweedle dee and tweedle dum for sucking face in class. At Steve for not helping you and as the bunson burner flickered under your beaker full of liquid, you watched Steve’s friends through the glass.

“You like that? Huh, babe? Wanna skip seventh period? Meet me in the bathroom?” Tommy grinned into Carol’s mouth and you make an overly noisy gagging sound.

Turning to look at you, Tommy caught your gaze through the beaker and smirked. His freckled cheeks pulling up with it as he chewed on his gum.

“What? You jealous?” he teased, voice edging on mean, “Bet you’d be a wild one if you loosened up.”

“C’mon, man,” Steve’s tone was short, clipped and irritated. He’d been sitting quiet the whole time, tolerating and ignoring it all, but when Tommy turned to you something in him snapped. Cheeks flushed and embarrassed at his friends he threw a pencil across the table and it only made Tommy grin wider.

“In your fucking dreams, Hagan. What, is Carol too boring for you?” you shot, wanting to slap the look off his face as heat crept up your chest and the shock on Carol’s face was worth it.

Tommy’s smirk fell a bit as he watched you, eyes narrowing as he considered what he wanted to say. No one challenged him like that, not even Steve who was grinning down at the table. You were quick and shit. He loved it, but Tommy didn’t.

“Nah, we’re good here, but I bet Harrington’d show you a good time. Maybe after Homecoming, you’re going together right?” Tommy snarked, licking along his lips, waiting for Steve to take the bait.

Your eyes pulled away from Tommy to look at Steve, quick wit and sharp words stolen away from you by the way your stomach lurched.

The punchline you’d been waiting for.

“Christ,” Steve hissed, face flushed like you’d never seen before and he nearly jumped across the table to smack a hand over the other boy’s mouth. He gave Tommy a look. A warning. Shut up. But it only pushed the other boy to go further.

“Seriously, I got a twenty in my wallet. C’mon Stevie boy, show her how it’s done–“

“Can you tell Nelson I went to the nurse? M’not feeling very good all of a sudden,” you didn’t let Tommy finish and glared at Steve, throat tightening as you tried to push down the emotion welling up in your chest.

You shoved yourself away from the table a little too harshly and the glass beaker clattered against its metal stand as you grabbed your things and headed for the door.

“Awh, c’mon! I’m only teasing, sweetheart!” Tommy mock-pleaded, snickering between his words as Carol watched amused and smug from the safety of his lap.

Steve opened his mouth to tell him to shut up, defend you even, but it didn’t matter anymore. You were already gone.

“God, Tommy. You’re such an asshole,” Steve snatched his binder from the table and hurried out the door after you.

You could hear Steve’s shoes slapping against the hallway tile behind you, trying to catch up, but you didn’t slow down. Heart hammering in your chest you tried to suck in deep breaths, tried to calm yourself down, but god you were angry.

“Hey! Just wait!” and Steve’s hand caught yours, hitching your steps and spinning you around to look up at him.

“What?” you hissed, flinging his hand off of yours and hurt flickered in his eyes for a second.

“I just–”

“You just what?” you said again, just as firm, just as plain, waiting for him to cook up some excuse and his lips parted but nothing came out. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. You’re just as bad as he is,” you pointed back down the hall to Tommy. To Carol. All cut from the same fucking cloth. You turned to walk away and Steve grabbed your hand again.

“Please,” he said voice edging on pleading and you spun around, walking right up to him so that your shoes were almost toe-to-toe.

“Twenty bucks? This was all a joke, right? Is that what I am to you? A joke?”

“No! No, I like hanging out with you now that–” but Steve caught his slip up and swallowed the rest of his words, watching as your cheeks burned bright under the bad florescent lighting.

“Now? What the hell does that mean?”

“Well–I just mean that, y-you know, we weren’t really friends before and–”

“God,” you choked out, willing the tears away that were stinging at the corners of your eyes, “Save it, Harrington. Good luck on your stupid test.”

And you didn’t wait, didn’t give him another chance to defend himself, so damn frustrated with yourself for trusting him. For letting him into your room. Letting him listen to you play your guitar and oh my god. For helping him.

Slamming your hands into the cold metal push bar of the exit door you ran out through the quad and slipped in the gravel between the gym and computer lab. Sweater catching on the brick as you slid down the wall to the floor, you buried your head in your hands. Hiding. Trying your best to undo all the delusions you’d dreamed up about Steve being different.

Because no. Steve Harrington was an asshole. Nothing had changed and you were a fool for believing it could.

Somehow you made it through the rest of the day. Passed a pop quiz in math and ate your lunch alone the bathroom. Steve wasn’t in any of your other classes until seventh period, Click’s class, and when you slammed your locker shut you looked down the hallway to see him walking up from the opposite direction.

He looked wrecked. Like he’d been punched and when his eyes met yours you scowled. A deep pinch between your brows, hoping he felt just how angry you were and he couldn’t hold your gaze. Glancing away for a minute confirmed that he was a coward and you took some solace in it, but decided you didn’t want to go to class. You hadn’t missed one yet this year and Click could deal.

You didn’t have a car and as you walked across the parking lot a rumble of thunder growled in the distance. Fantastic. A walk home in the rain sounded great.

Tugging your coat around your frame you felt the air shift, a drop in temperature, and it was slow at first. Little drops here and there. Pattering soft against the pavement as you hurried between the cars, but they got bigger and bigger until another clap of thunder cracked the sky in two and then it poured.

Almost halfway home and you were soaked. Shoes squelching with each step you took. Rain dripping off the hood of your coat and onto your face where it mingled with the tears streaming down your cheeks. Cars sped by you on the road, tires kicking up water as they went loud and wet and you almost didn’t hear one slowing down over the rain until a horn honked.

“Hey! Are you crazy? Get in!”

Squeezing your eyes shut you stopped, rain still dumping down on you and the voice called again.

“C’mon! Please?”

It wasn’t too much further, but it was so damn cold. The rain didn’t show any sign of stopping and you weren’t an idiot, so against your better judgement you turned and hurried back the short distance to the maroon BMW idling on the side of the road and climbed into the passenger seat.

The loud smack of rain on the road was sliced in two as you shut your door, leaving you and the boy in the driver’s seat in silence.

You didn’t look at Steve, instead tangling your hands in your hair to wring out the water onto your lap, but you could see him stealing glances out of the corner of your eye. If you opened your mouth you knew you’d say things you’d regret, knew you’d be too mean with it, so you bit your lips in between your teeth and stared at the tiny grooves and patterns on the dash.

“Silent treatment? Seriously?” Steve finally asked, voice low. Miserable and unsure and it pulled your eyes up to look at him.

He was a sight. Hair stuck wet and messy across his forehead, probably from running out after you into the rain. Drips of water beading along his lashes, the tip of his nose, the line of his jaw. Still so damn pretty even when he was a wreck and the anger in your chest flickered at the how your thoughts betrayed you.

“Yeah. Seriously,” you said matter-of-factly, holding his gaze, making sure he saw just how hurt you were and he loosed a heavy sigh.

“I’m really sorry,” he tried, turning so he could see you a little better and god he did look sorry. You’d honestly never seen anyone look more sorry in your life, but Tommy’s stupid laugh echoed in your head and you screwed your eyes shut.

“That doesn’t fix it, Harrington,” came out wobbly and you swallowed the lump in your throat, pushing yourself forward, he needed to hear it. “You think you’re untouchable, like you run shit, and maybe you do right now, but tell me its worth it. Is it worth it?”

His face shifted, pained, his eyes dropping to the center console as he ran a hand through his wet hair. It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t as soon as he saw Tommy that morning. Knew it wasn’t when you’d said yes to going out with him. He thought maybe he knew it all along, but couldn't admit it.

“No,” he finally managed, shaking his head, “No. It’s not and I’m really sorry.” When he looked back up at you, you felt like he sucker punched you. Either he was a fantastic actor or he’d meant what he’d just said. No doubt about it and you roughed your hands over your face.

“Please just drive me home,” you said quietly, leaning your head against the window all fogged up from the moisture and wet clinging to your bodies.

“Yeah. Okay,” he agreed and pulled back onto the main road, still stealing glances at you. Checking to see if you were alright. If you needed anything. If you’d listened to him.

He weaved through the puddles in the road, lightening rippling across the sky ahead of you through the windshield and he didn’t push. Didn’t make you talk. Didn’t want answers right away and instead settled into the quiet.

You wished you could go back to how it was before. Go back to seeing Steve in his room across the side yard from yours throwing a tennis ball against he wall. Back to him floating in his pool while you read your book, safely tucked away in your room. Back to walking past him in the hallway at school and saying nothing, but you knew you couldn’t now. Knew things had changed and you wondered at it. What would it be now?

Looking out the window you realized you’d missed the turn at the hospital down your road and were off toward the Steel Mill now.

“Harrington, this isn’t our street,” you grumbled, fixing him with a look as he pulled off into a driveway you didn’t recognize and threw the BMW into park.

“I know, I know. I just gotta check something really quick. I promise, like, five minutes and then I’ll take you home. Okay?” he gave you an apologetic look, a real one and you groaned, but relented. Shaking your head and leaning back against the window.

“Whatever, just hurry up,” you muttered and he nodded.

“I promise,” he said again before popping the trunk and hopping out of the car into the rain.

You didn’t know whose house this was, but you’d recognized Barb’s place on the way and there was a bike tossed against the garage that you knew you’d seen before. The curly-haired kid with the walkie talkie?

Catching Steve in the rearview mirror you saw him grab something from the trunk before slamming it shut and as he ran up the walk a flash of lightening caught silver. Lit up what it was he had held tight in his hands.

The bat. Full of nails. And when he wrenched the front door open you caught strings of Christmas lights, but it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet. What the hell was going on?

Crawling over into the driver’s seat you unrolled the window, feeling a little braver, a little bolder, and strained your ears to see if you could hear anything. Hear why the hell Steve Harrington needed a bat full of nails or why someone put Christmas lights up this early and for a minute it was quiet. Normal. Not unusual.

Until you saw it.

The colored lights in the windows started to flicker erratically. Flashing and blinking and stuttering against the paned glass and your brow furrowed. Power outage? But then a high pitched screech pierced the air and you jumped in your seat. Not human. Not animal. Something else and goosebumps trailed up your arms. And then a yell, this one human, and your stomach lurched.

“Oh shit! Oh shit, oh shit!”

Steve.

“Jesus, gimme the bat! The bat!”

You didn’t know what was going on, but something was horribly wrong and mad him or not, fuck if you were gonna sit around and wait. Fingers wet and slipping against he handle on the car door you flung it open and sprinted through the mud and the rain toward the house.

He might’ve been an asshole, but said it himself, Steve Harrington was shit in a fist fight and lucky for him you had a hell of a swing.