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hawkinsindiana · 4 months

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here's 5.1k of the first time you see steve cry, some absolutely delicious hurt/comfort courtesy of madame @stevebabey and myself >:) PLS ENJOY

canon to almost paradise, pre s3

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steve doesn’t know what to do.

his quads are starting to burn; he’s been crouched outside your window for the past couple minutes, but there’s no sign of you. not physically at least — he can hear the faint thump of some pop song echoing through the radio and an open notebook on your desk. you were here.

he should’ve just called. this is stupid. you could be gone for another ten minutes, maybe you’re not even home anymore. he’s drumming his fingers against the sill, praying that none of your neighbors see him as he debates whether to leave or stay. he wants to stay. he needs to see you.

thirty seconds pass before steve spots movement from inside — you enter your room with a cookie wedged between your teeth and another three clasped in your hand. steve can’t help but smile; it’s ridiculous how fond he is of you.

fond… that word doesn’t feel large enough to hold all his feelings for you, but the obvious one seems too damning—

the thought ends abruptly; the treat in your mouth helps to muffle a panicked yelp as you spot steve perched on the other side of your window. steve grimaces even though you’re beginning to laugh and you eat the entire cookie in one bite. he mouths a ‘sorry’ as you start to stride over, setting the other desserts onto your desk before lifting the window up. a burst of chilled, early march air sends a shiver down your spine. you still have crumbs on your lip.

but your smile is wide as you greet him, your posture awkwardly bent over so you can address him eye to eye, “we have to come up with a better system than this. you end up scaring me like… seven times out of ten.”

your teasing warms steve in a way that makes him never want to leave your side. he thinks you’d let him stay there, too.

before steve gets a chance to reply, you’re offering him one of your cookies. it looks like something that your mother made and knowing claudia henderson, he’s pretty confident that means it’s extra sweet.

“want one?”

your voice is just above a whisper, a quiet tone that won’t be overheard by the others inside. given his fragile mental state, steve has to resist withdrawing from your affection. the thoughts in the back of his mind are screaming at him; you’re so happy to love him and share your dessert, meanwhile you’re stuck with him — someone who can’t think about saying that word to you without feeling nauseous. not because of you, but because of what could come after.

maybe some part of what his father said has some truth to it.

but despite all of that, steve still can’t say no to you. he swallows his emotions as he takes your offering with a gracious smile — your eyes sparkle just a little bit more.

“you know i could never turn down a mrs. henderson special,” steve says with his classic charm. he sinks his teeth into the doughy cookie and nearly groans aloud; it’s still warm. this batch must be fresh. steve feels a pang in his chest thinking of your home, lively and bustling — someone’s baking, someone’s studying, music and noise in every room. it’s so starkly different from where he’s just come from.

the sweetness on his tongue isn’t enough to distract him completely from the reason he’s here, his heart desperately seeking you out. you push your window up a little more, just high enough so steve can climb through and he shoves the cookie in his mouth. bracing his hands on the sill to hoist himself up and over, he lands with a loud thump.

“shhh,” you hush, even though you still have that entirely enamored smile on. it’s impossible not to feel a little gooey whenever he does these things, no matter how much you try to contain yourself. your boyfriend sneaking through your window is just so normal and, embarrassingly, something you thought you might never get.

you smother down a laugh at steve’s crouched position, pausing like his quietness will make up for his previous landing. when there’s no reaction, he straightens and dusts off his jacket before eating the rest of the cookie.

“oh my god,” he says, or tries to. it comes out muffled as he chews. he swallows, taking a second to run his hand through his hair before he properly turns to you, “thank god for your mom’s baking, honestly.”

you agree with a quiet hum as your smile grows more smitten. you weren’t expecting to spend any time with him tonight, much to your dismay, so this is a very welcome surprise. cupping steve’s face in between your palms, you take a moment to greet him with a kiss that he graciously returns. the chill that had seeped into his skin is quickly banished with your touch; his ears flush a bright red at how sweet and effortless your affection is. he’s so glad he came to see you.

“hey,” steve mumbles when you pull away, your eyes twinkling upon seeing his blush.

“hey yourself,” you reply, feeling your own face heat up.

you take a couple steps backwards until your thighs hit the edge of your mattress. as you sit down, you continue playfully, “so… what did i do to deserve a visit?”

it’s an easy way to ask. not that steve ever really needs a reason to come see you — you’re that sweet on each other. but something churns uncomfortably in your gut; steve’s not the type of guy to show up without a phone call first. with your words, steve’s face darkens and it’s definitely not the last time you’re going to be disappointed about being right.

it’s now that you realize how he’s dressed. a crisp white collared shirt sits beneath his jacket and a pair of dark slacks hang from his hips. he’s forgone his usual sneakers for some dress shoes. as far as you know, he didn’t have anything this fancy after tonight’s basketball practice. your brow shifts into a minuscule furrow, small enough that it goes unnoticed — so where was he?

steve clears his throat, shoving away the tightness that formed with your question, “my, uh, my dad’s back in town.”

“that’s a surprise,” you say, shifting on top of the comforter, “i thought he wasn’t coming back until next month.”

steve doesn’t speak, but instead acknowledges the similar confusion he had felt with an annoyed expression. you cross your ankles, “and your mom?”

biting his lip, your boyfriend shakes his head.

oh.

steve’s father is not known for being an overwhelmingly caring parent, but rather on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. he’s extremely authoritarian and blunt, with a healthy scoop of entitlement on the side. while you’ve only met him a handful of times, that man has always left you with an aching feeling inside your chest and a wrinkle between your brow; you can’t imagine how steve feels. and considering his mother isn’t here, you know his father’s abrasiveness will be ten times worse, not that her presence has ever stopped him before.

you pray that steve’s night went better than expected, but you can already tell that thought is in vain. there’s a defeated look in his eyes and a familiar weariness in his posture. he looks lost.

like a flashlight in the dark, you extend your hands out to him, beckoning steve to come closer still. he slides his palms into yours almost instantaneously, as if waiting another second would’ve been too difficult for him to bear. he swears the place where your skin meets glows like the evening sun, golden and overwhelmingly warm — a feeling that grows as you gently guide him to your bed. you offer a small and comforting smile as the mattress dips under his added weight; he keeps one of your hands in his.

steve knows you don’t expect him to say anything — he could sit here in silence and you’d gladly indulge him. but he decides that’s not the reason why he came here.

“he was in a rush when i got home. he made dinner reservations for tonight and barely got here in time after his flight,” steve begins, regretfully pulling his eyes from you to focus blankly on the floor, “think i had maybe ten minutes to shower and get dressed.”

he sighs, dragging his hand down his face as he tries to focus on your warmth beside him, “he was just… worse. angrier, louder, more…”

he pauses to try and think of another word to describe his father’s demeanor but finds himself distracted by your grip on his hand, soft yet firm. constant. he gives up, moving his free hand through the air in a dejected motion but you understand perfectly — more of everything.

you tut softly, using your fingers to brush some hair behind his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“i’m sorry, steve,” you pout, “that sounds awful.”

steve hums a thank you, relishing in the combination of your touch and soft words. having you in his life has made such a difference; it’s hard to imagine what it’d be like without you. the loneliness he would feel… he can barely comprehend it.

you know steve well. there’s a restrained rage that hides just underneath his skin. he’s not telling you everything.

“how…” you trip over your words a little as your fury begins to build. not because of him, but because of how insistent steve’s father is with being cruel. he’s the one who taught steve to doubt himself. it makes you blood boil to think the fire may’ve been stoked tonight.

“how was it? did he say something to you?”

there it is again — the tickle in the back of steve’s throat that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter how hard he tries. it grows after hearing the concern in your tone, the anger on his behalf. he nods once, voice far weaker and wobblier than he would like, “yeah.”

the word sinks into your chest, a deep claw right between your ribs. it aches, all from the way he says it. you’ve seen steve upset before but this… this is something bigger than that. this is a deep wound, one that isn’t easily healed.

but you’re willing to try. you’ll do anything to help him.

giving your palm a quick squeeze, steve reaches for his collar with his free hand as he tries to get his thoughts in order. it’s something you’ve seen him do a thousand times when he’s growing uncomfortable or upset — fiddling with the neckline to give him space to breathe. but it’s only when he tugs on something else do you notice he’s also wearing a tie.

it’s twisted and messy and you wonder if he’s been yanking on it all night. as he tries to work the fabric free, it’s fruitless, his rough motions only succeeding in rubbing the fabric cruelly against his neck. steve grows more frustrated every second, his voice low, “god, fuck—this stupid thing, fuck—”

“hey, hey. here, let me help,” you interrupt, grabbing his wrist to rescue himself from his futile efforts. he’s far too worked up and his fussing is only tightening the knot. steve huffs loudly and surrenders, emotions still running too high and you guide his hand away.

his focus turns to you and steve visibly softens, his shoulders slumping enough that he shrinks a whole inch. he blinks rapidly, his eyes turning away from you again; you decide to focus on the tie.

it’s twisted up, you realize, because it hasn’t been tied properly in the first place. steve knows how to knot a tie — you’d seen him do it many times before. you ignore the worry this fills you with and steel yourself. it’s a fickle thing but you manage, pulling at the tie until the knot finally comes free. the fabric slithers down his chest and you follow it with your palm, a soothing touch.

when your eyes drift back up to his pout, you watch as a single tear falls onto the swell of his cheek. your hand reaches for his face before he gets a chance to move; the tear is quickly removed by the pad of your thumb without a second thought. steve bows his head, hoping to obscure some of this emotion from you, but you won’t let him. you shift as well, eyes desperately searching his face.

“what happened?” you whisper, a gentle coax to see if he wants to talk. if he shakes his head, you’ll leave it. your heart aches profusely as you watch a deep sadness work its way across his face but worst of all, you can tell he’s holding back. it’s almost like he can’t bear to look at you, as if seeing the worry in your expression would push him over the edge. you care about him so much it’s nearly overwhelming; steve can’t remember a time when he mattered this much to someone — where even the hint of a cry was met with an outpouring of love.

you return your hand to his, squeezing gently. your voice is so soft he can barely hear it, “it’s okay, steve. you can— you know i won’t…”

you drift off, struggling to find the most eloquent words. how do you tell your boyfriend he can cry around you without having to actually tell him that?

you swallow the lump in your throat and move your eyes to his hair, taking your fingers and running them through the brunette strands. suddenly, you feel quite nervous yourself.

“i’m still gonna love you.”

a whimper slips out of his throat.

a noise has never broken you so quickly. instantly, you’re kicking your feet up onto the bed to lean into him properly, winding an arm around him and resting your head on his shoulder.

as another tear falls, it seems like it’s followed by hundreds. years of anger and complicated emotions come pouring out into steve’s hands, his face buried in his palms. the only thing you can think to do is sit here and let him cry, a comforting touch placed on both his back and his thigh, reminding him that you’re still here with him. you’re not planning on going anywhere.

“he always says the same stuff so i’m used to it now,” he finally says, pulling his hands away from his face to see his skin wet and stained with tears. he shakes his head in disbelief, relishing in the feeling your warmth brings beside him, until it reminds him of something else. with a clenched jaw, he sniffles, completely defeated, “it’s the shit he said about you that just… pushed it over the edge. i mean—”

steve manages a small laugh, “it’s you. how… how could i not let that get to me? you’re everything and i—”

you try not to let his words affect you but there’s no helping the ripple that shudders across your face, a whirlwind of the worst of your ugly emotions. inside you, there’s a part that wonders constantly about just how much trouble you’re worth — first it was billy and all the shit he’s brought with him, and now steve’s father. you’re ashamed how strongly you feel that perhaps steve would be better off without you, no matter how much he swears it’s worth it, which he does even now as he sobs in your bedroom. the common theme of you, ill-fitted to be in his life, is beginning to wear down on your soul. tonight, it chafes particularly meanly.

but you’re tough. this moment isn’t about you. inhaling sharply, you swallow and it feels like it’s full of nails — the lump instantly regrows when you notice steve stopped speaking and watched your reaction closely. his wet eyes grow mistier and misery seeps into his face, a choked noise forcing its way up his throat. steve smothers it into his hand.

“i’m sorry,” he croaks.

your heart weeps. what is he sorry for? the hand on his back sweeps up, a gentle touch on his head. you brush back his hair, thumbing softly beneath his eyes to brush away the stray tears.

“what’re you apologizing for?” you say low and soft, willing away the wobble in your voice as steve searches your face almost desperately. his eyes look lost. his curled form resembles a child, awoken from a cruel night terror. you ache to help him, to ease the burden.

“s’not your fault,” you assure him in a whisper, pressing closer. your words have the opposite effect, worry hiking a mile high when steve crumbles again — he sags, burying his face in the curve of your neck.

“i’m sorry, i— i’m so sorry,” his words come out all hiccup-y, his breathing too fast and ragged. your arms are around him in an instant, grounding and safe as you pull him in closer. your chin rests on top of his head. steve’s arms shift, wrapping around your middle desperately — his fingers grip tight like you might slip away if he loosened his hold for even a moment. twisted together, steve cries and cries, an endless stream of apologies. you refuse to let it deter you; one hand settles on the back of his head, soothing the hair on the nape of his neck. the other rubs up and down his back, all while you murmur soft assurances for him to hear.

“s’okay, you’re okay,” you say over and over again, working diligently to sooth him, “i’m here, it’s okay.”

steve wishes he knew what he was apologizing for, but part of him understands he’s saying sorry for everything. i’m sorry for mentioning my father finds pleasure in despising you, the only thing that’s ever brought me true happiness. i’m sorry for arriving unannounced. i’m sorry i can’t say ‘i love you’ yet. for the rumors. for your nightmares. for being less than you deserve. for everything we’ve been through together. all of it — a culmination.

several minutes pass before steve’s breathing reaches a regular rhythm and the tears stop all together. his grip on you relaxes over time, slowly understanding that you stayed despite his outburst; his fingers unfurl from the fabric of your shirt. steve sniffles once more, now noticing how tear-stained your clothes have become — more guilt climbs up his throat. it never comes to fruition; instead, he finds himself focusing on the soothing pressure of your touch. the feeling melts away. you shift to press a kiss into the crown of his head. with your nose still buried in his hair, you speak.

“stay here tonight. please.”

your hold on him tightens a bit more, your eyes watering as you think of him returning to his father and away from any comfort you can bring him, “i don’t want you going back there. not tonight.”

somehow, steve manages to burrow deeper into your skin, his arms around you squeezing comfortably. more light blooms in him as the intention behind your words trickles down into his heart — you are his home now. he nods weakly, swallowing the pain for another time. right now, he simply feels like resting in your embrace.

“okay.”

“yeah?” you ask, slowly beginning to unfurl yourself from him; you want to see his face. with a bit of coaxing, you gently guide his head away from his hiding place and smile softly, wiping the leftover tears from his cheeks. upon seeing the care for him in your eyes, he can’t help but confirm, his hands smoothing down along your back in appreciation.

“yeah.”

he's beautiful, even when he's a mess. the tip of his nose is a ruddy red and it's running terribly. tears cling to his eyelashes, sparkling beneath the low-light lamp of your room. you press a quick kiss to his temple, same as you've done a thousand times before, and lean backward. your touch never leaves him as you locate your tissue box, steve sniffling loudly as you grab a dozen.

in an attempt to either make him smile or feel extra loved, you hold one in front of his nose and say, "blow?"

"gimme those," steve guffaws, his free hand coming up to snatch them from your grip. he blows his nose and it toots noisily like a trumpet, making you laugh. he sounds a bit nasally when he speaks again, his eyes fond as he looks at you.

"can blow my own nose, thank you."

you nod with a soft hum just to tease him. he blows his nose once again, clearing it all out and takes the other tissues when you offer them, scrubbing at his waterlogged face. he smiles gratefully at you and then heaves a great big sigh, shoulders rising and falling, before he slumps backwards to lie back on your bed.

"who knew crying was so exhausting?" he mumbles, the question meant more to himself.

you scoop up one of his feet and plant it in your lap, beginning to undo his laces. you can’t say you like his fancy shoes.

"i did," you jibe back. you poke his ankle, aiming for one of his moles, "why'd you think i'm always napping in your arms after i bawl my eyes out?"

steve watches your hands, sliding his shoe off and moving onto the other dutifully. you're making him more comfortable and you do it without even being asked. another wave of tears threatens him again because you love him like it's easy — steve has spent most of his life being told the exact opposite.

"thought that was more to do with my, y’know, rugged arms than the crying part..." he admits jokingly, thankful when it makes you giggle a bit. you shrug, faking indifference but it earns you a smile.

after you finish taking off his other shoe, you place his feet down so you can crawl up to him. you stop and settle with your chin on his chest and steve has to put a hand behind his head to prop himself up to properly see you. you're quietly in thought, staring at him intensely. steve feels his heart quiver — you're awfully good at reading him. at seeing him and knowing him.

"d'you wanna talk about it? what… what he said?" your words come out soft again, low as a whisper, even though it's just the two of you here.

another sigh leaves steve, your head on his chest moving with the exhale. he glances up to the ceiling as he contemplates whether or not he wants to continue this conversation. upon meeting your eyes, he knows you'll do nothing but listen. his free hand drops to your arm, fingers lovingly curling around your bicep.

"it was mostly the same shit, like i said," steve shrugs in both acceptance and defeat, "so usually i can just stay quiet. it doesn't get to me as much if i don't try to fight it, y'know?"

you hum softly in understanding, gaze still locked on his expression as he pauses to nibble on his bottom lip.

"except this time, he uh..." steve expels another deep breath as he thinks back on what was said and his reaction. he scoffs, "well, he's definitely figured out what we are, that's for sure."

he ends his sentence with a slight laugh and a squeeze to your muscle. adorably, you grin and roll your head to the side; steve swears he can feel you blush with your cheek pressed to his chest.

"that's one less person we gotta tell i guess."

steve chuckles and you do too, both of you happy to find some humor in this god awful circumstance. but the joy is short-lived as he recalls the dinner; the delight in his father's eyes at finally finding his son's breaking point, how steve's food grew cold as his appetite quickly left him. he could eat another ten of your mom's cookies. then the familiar anger begins to bubble up again — he clenches down on his teeth.

"i could've punched him, baby. i... fuck, i should've," he mutters, his head shaking slightly in disbelief, remembering the absolute fury that controlled him in those tense moments. it's just like it was that night at the byers — maybe worse than that, if it’s even possible.

first, there was a comment about how you’re his only friend now. it was said with such a disgusted tone that steve had to take offense — his father made it sound like befriending you was somehow affecting his reputation. apparently the henderson name doesn’t carry enough weight around town, and what it does carry isn’t something the harringtons should be associated with. as if it matters to steve — he’d rather be accepted by your family than anyone else in this stupid town.

but as steve finally fought back to defend you, it became clear what steve’s true feelings for you entail. he’s never defended anyone from his father’s wrath.

halfway through you being compared to nancy wheeler — “now she comes from a good american family” — steve realized that his father knows.

he’s not sure who told him or how much he heard, but it hit steve harder than billy’s punch did. one little comment about your ‘promiscuity’ was all he needed to confirm the suspicion. it took every ounce of willpower steve had in him to not choke out his father with the tablecloth.

something steve's learning is the intense grip you have on his emotions — both the positive and negative ones. he's sure that's not entirely healthy but he could care less. he never wants that passion for you to disappear.

steve continues, "and yeah, yeah, i know he's just trying to get a rise outta me but jesus christ..."

silence follows as he trails off, refusing to tell you any more. you don’t deserve to hear any of that repeated. you're still studying steve, eyes drifting along the slopes of his face to catch any sign of another tear. thankfully, he seems fairly composed this time around — frustration taking the place of his sadness. but when he meets your gaze again, it softens back into gratitude and affection. neither of you are able to look away.

steve's hand moves up to your face, his fingers deftly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear; his voice is overflowing with fondness, "pretty sure you're my carbonite."

you, however, do not react as he expected. your face instantly wrinkles in confusion, propping yourself up as you try to decipher what he means. some mixture of a scoff and a laugh leaves your lips as you realize what he meant. he's lucky you find it endearing.

"steve, it's kryptonite, not carbonite."

"that's the same word."

you giggle again, “no it’s not—”

“they end with the same sound, it’s close enough,” steve bickers back, “besides, you understood what i said anyways.”

a sigh leaves your lips as you meet his eyes, your cheeks aching from how wide your grin is, “i did, but how about i be the one who makes the nerdy references in this relationship.”

steve raises his hands, “hey, you’re not gonna hear me complain’.”

another laugh from you. steve’s expression shifts back to one of affection, “i mean it though, y’know. you have this… hold on me that i’m still trying to figure out. it’s crazy. you know any non-nerdy words to describe that?”

you hum and nod, your smile wistful. your chest tightens.

“yeah, i think i do.”

the look in your eyes gives away the answer. steve swallows — his mouth suddenly feels extremely dry.

to combat any awkwardness before it begins, you immediately get up to grab the other cookies you’d forgotten about. you share them between you, careful not to get too many crumbs on your bed. while steve dutifully watches, you take another twenty minutes to finish your physics homework before you begin your typical bedtime routine.

coming back after your shower to see your boyfriend shirtless and comfortable beneath your blankets is not a sight you will be forgetting anytime soon. as you crawl into bed with him, it takes a ridiculous amount of self control not to stare at the thatch of chest hair that’s been growing over the past couple months. he’s so warm and has a pink tint in his cheeks that makes you swoon; you decide that he looks positively adorable.

as you settle in beside him after adjusting the pillows and turning out the light, you can’t help but pick at his thoughts.

“you gonna be okay?”

steve nods, his hair mussing against the pillow, “yeah, i don’t give a shit about what he says.”

now that his emotions are back to their regular balance, he’s much more indifferent. he can see it clearly and understands that none of it is his fault. there’s nothing steve can do to prevent how his father feels; that isn’t a burden he needs to carry.

he shifts beneath the covers, his leg finding yours. your feet are chilly. he smiles as he reaches out for you, tucking one of his arms beneath the pillows so he can pull you in closer. steve curls the other around your torso, his palm laying flat against your back while you tangle your legs together. it’s awfully snug and you’re sure he can feel your heart pounding.

“i’ll be alright as long as i have you,” he mumbles, taking a moment to let his eyes gently rove over your face. you force yourself to hold back your smile so you don’t look like a total dork, but it’s awfully difficult. you figure you probably look positively in-love regardless.

“well, it’s a good thing i’m not planning on going anywhere, hm?”

steve seals the sentiment with a kiss — the best way he knows to ensure you’re confident that he feels the same. he lets the tips of your noses touch after pulling away and brings his palm up to your face. his eyes are almost jet black in the dark; only a sliver of chocolate brown remains, thanks to the streetlight outside your window.

“thank you,” he whispers, “for everything.”

your body heats up from both his touch and his words. it’s almost too much for you to handle. but you answer him all the same and with a genuine smile, “of course. any time.”

with a final kiss to your forehead, steve properly cuddles you in close to him, his nose buried into your hair. as you curl your arm around him, inhaling the scent of his cologne, rest finds you both soon after.

#i had the best day of my life seeing taylor swift and then i immediately was like hey ruby i wanna make steve cry wanna join in?#and she said yes :)#ANYWAYS I HOPE THOSE OF YOU THAT VOTED FOR THIS LIKED IT OKAY ILY!!!!!!#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #almost paradise #almost paradise blurbs

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hawkinsindiana · 2 months

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*clears throat* heya here's 3.8k worth of some uber upsetting angst featuring unrequited love on the night of your junior prom and you convincing yourself you definitely don't love your best friend steve, written by @stevebabey and myself TWO YEARS AGO >:) enjoy and get your tissues

canon to almost paradise, pre s2

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when steve called you this morning, he sounded like a hurricane.

a million thoughts were whirling through his mind; almost all of his sentences came out like a frazzled mess, reflecting the torrential downpour outside. but somehow, throughout all the chaos over the phone, he recruited you to help him get ready for tonight.

junior prom. ugh — you roll your eyes just thinking about it. ever since the date was announced, you’ve been dreading it. if steve hadn’t been so worried about getting everything perfect, you’d probably have forgotten about it by now.

well, that’s a lie. you were never going to totally forget about your prom, especially with dozens upon dozens of posters plastered throughout the school. for months now, you’ve been hearing the gossip of who asked who, or who said no. you choose to believe your lack of an invitation is due to steve’s company — not some other answer that’ll make you cripple in self-hatred.

the harrington’s front door is already unlocked, just as steve said it would be. you call out his name as you enter, careful not to snag your skirt on the umbrella before closing the door behind you. there’s a thump upstairs, followed closely by the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching from down the hall.

“thank god, i feel so much better now that you’re— woah.”

steve stops dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs. as he does, your eyes snap up to land on his, which continue to widen the longer he stares.

your dress fits you perfectly. the sleeves are draped off your shoulders, exposing the skin of your décolletage. all of your features are enhanced by the color of chiffon that cascades to your ankles, accentuated by a pair of small heels. you look like something out of a movie.

“what?” you ask as you slip out of your shoes, now hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. steve’s never looked at you like that — nothing even close to that. the butterflies in your stomach flare; it feels like you’re filled with them, as if they’re coming up your throat and will spill out of your mouth any second.

your fingers fly to your hair, gently pinned into an up-do, “is it… it’s too much, yeah?”

“no, just—”

steve blinks a couple times and descends further down the steps when he hears the insecurity in your voice. he clears his throat and grins lightly, “you, uh, you clean up pretty good, henderson.”

it’s embarrassing how wide your smile grows with his words. there’s a part of you that screams to get it together, but his praise feels so unbelievably good you can’t even hear it. you’re not in love with him.

you grab your shoes, “are you insinuating that i don’t try to look nice on a daily basis?”

steve panics as you walk forward to join him on the stairs, your brow furrowed teasingly, “what? no! i’m just— y’know this is the… i’m trying to tell you that you look good, okay? you look good.”

a laugh spills out of you at his nerves and your smile widens once again. you exhale, darting your gaze to the floor as you answer genuinely, “thank you.”

when you bring your eyes back up to land on steve’s boyish relief, you feel the itch to move even closer to him; it doesn’t subside as you resist the urge. if anything, it grows stronger. you don’t want to be too far from him ever again. maybe, if you’re lucky, he feels the same way.

it’s now that you realize what he’s wearing — a pair of his gym shorts and a white tank. his hair is soaked, like he just got out of the shower. he should be at least halfway done by now.

“i was gonna ask how it’s going, but…” you trail off as you gesture to his current state, your tone light, “i’m guessing not well.”

steve speaks gravely, “i’ve washed my hair three times.”

“steve!”

“i can’t get it right!” he pouts and stomps once, which makes you chuckle. god, it’s stupid how easy it is for him to get a laugh out of you. you’re absolutely hopeless. you follow closely behind him as he leads you to the second floor.

steve’s room is far tidier than it usually is, except for the en suite. the counter is covered in a slew of hair care products and appliances, ranging from mousse to gel and everything in between. before you can get a really good look, steve grabs a can of something near the sink and tosses it into a drawer. you scoff lightly, eyes moving quickly between his hand and the bashful expression creeping across his face, “what was that?”

his eyes narrow as he deflects, “none of your beeswax, henderson, alright?”

he moves his hands through the air in an exasperated motion, “just gimme a couple minutes to try this one more time and if that doesn’t work… you’re helping me shave it all off.”

“wow, you’re dramatic when you’re nervous, harrington,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice and toss your bag onto the floor. if he was five years old, you think he’d poke his tongue out at you. with another glare sent your way, steve enters the bathroom and leaves the door slightly ajar, presumably for any errant hairspray fumes.

the pair of you spend the next half hour conversing occasionally through the door, with the rest being spent reading as you wait patiently. it’s an effort to distract yourself from him, but it’s in vain. you smile every time you hear him curse under his breath. sometimes you find your eyes drifting from the page to land on his shadow moving across the floor. the comforter on his bed smells so much like steve it’s unbearable; you wonder what it’s like to sleep beside him, to kiss him awake or run a hand through his hair as he rests. you exhale — it’s pathetic how much your chest aches for him.

“alright, shit— how do i look?”

steve’s voice cracks through your thoughts, forcing your gaze up from the carpet. the way your jaw drops can’t be helped; you nearly shatter a tooth when you snap it back into place as quickly as it fell. this reaction isn’t enough for steve, however. your silence makes him nervous enough to ask again, “well?”

his skin looks incredibly tan against the navy blue of his tuxedo, which of course, is expertly tailored. the extra time he spent on his hair was worth it — he’s quaffed it perfectly. you decide the right words to describe steve’s beauty don’t exist. he’s like something described in the pages of one of your books.

you inhale and nod rapidly, “wow! uh, yeah, really good.”

“the hair? it’s—”

“good! definitely. i think you’ve tamed it,” a laugh titters past your lips as your breath gets caught in your throat. it really is quite unfair how effortlessly he can affect you this way. steve thinks nothing of it, turning around briefly to catch another glimpse of himself in the mirror, fixing a few strands that fell out of place. he sighs, allowing your reassurance to wash over him. you wouldn’t lie.

“sorry for being so pissy before,” steve mutters as he spins to face you again, “there’s a lot of pressure, y’know? i just want it to be good.”

you smile easily, waving off his concern with your hand, “don’t worry about it, steve. it’s fine.”

he nods and sighs once more before returning your smile. he’s so genuine that you think your heart’s gonna get tugged out of your chest one day. you’re not in love with him.

“okay. i think… i have ever— wait. shit,” steve stops his thought abruptly and moves to the stereo on top of his dresser. as he begins rifling through the cassettes, he glances back at you, “i need a song.”

“a song?”

“a slow dance song,” steve clarifies, “got any ideas?”

you swallow down the envy that stains your tongue at the idea, but it’s awfully difficult. the intimate sway that will be with nancy. but you want to be helpful; you want to help him. you bite down on your lip as you think, mentally flipping through your mom’s records. your neck burns at the thought of one in particular — it’s reminded you of the boy in front of you far too many times.

“that one by 10cc, ‘i’m not in love’, maybe?” you offer shyly and begin to bury your face into your book out of embarrassment. could you be more obvious?

“holy shit, i totally forgot about that song. you’re a genius,” steve says as he searches for the tape, jumping at the choice you offer, “i’d barely survive a day without you, i swear.”

you hum a sound of appreciation and feel blood pool in your cheeks out of embarrassment. before you get a chance to focus back on the book in your grasp, the song is drifting through the air of his room, and his hand is outstretched towards you.

the look on your face is pure surprise. you glance between his inviting palm and his face as he looks to you expectantly. steve’s brow furrows at your lack of movement, confusion washing over him, “what, you’re not even gonna help me practice?”

you begin to shake your head as he smirks playfully, “steve, i don’t know if—”

“you scared of me or somethin’?”

you have half the mind to reply no, when the answer is most definitely a yes. steve harrington is standing in front of you in his best suit, just about as handsome as you think he’s ever been, begging you to help him practice slow dancing for his girlfriend. now you kind of feel like you have to throw up.

he wiggles his fingers invitingly, but impatiently like time is gonna run out. he whines, “c’monnnnn—”

“okay, okay!”

you can’t help but laugh as you hesitantly grab your bookmark, placing it into the page before getting up to slip on your heels. steve takes your hand without another second to waste, which only skyrockets your heart rate. his palm is softer than you expected, with the hint of a rough callus on the tips of his fingers from all that time playing sports. he tugs you closer just a bit too suddenly, forcing your shoes to step onto his; steve smiles sheepishly with a slight chuckle, “whoops, sorry.”

when you recover and bring your head up, he’s barely a foot away — your cheeks immediately flush the hottest they’ve ever been. you swallow harshly as you try to speak but there’s quite literally nothing on your mind other than how close his lips are to yours. one quick movement and you could kiss him.

“so… um,” he pauses as he thinks, “how do you, uh, do this exactly?”

you summon the hint of a laugh, lacing your tone with sarcasm as you answer, “do i look like i know?”

you want to stare at him, take in every detail you can — how warm his skin is, how wide his pupils are. you’re afraid you’ll get caught if you do it for too long. you’re not in love with him.

steve shrugs, suddenly a bit embarrassed as well, “i don’t know. i don’t… i don’t really know how to do this either.”

then you stop breathing — he places his hands on your waist, fingers dancing lightly on top of your ribs. he’s made from electricity, sending little shockwaves into your body. steve gestures with his head, a small smile curling his lips, “i’m pretty sure you’re supposed to put your arms ‘round my neck, henderson.”

“oh! right—” you swallow harshly and force yourself to take another step closer. your chest is tight as you do as he says, your palms settling onto his shoulders before your elbows loop around his neck. you’re confident he can feel the tremble in your fingers.

as the pair of you begin to sway gently to the music, it feels like your eyes fuse to steve’s. you swear you fall into some sort of trance, the dreamy synths of the music only making it harder for you to resist. it’s hard to breathe.

“jesus, you’re tense,” steve jokes, “c’mon, loosen up already.”

he tightens his grip on you for a split second, but it’s enough to light your body up like a current. you accidentally step forward onto his toes in shock.

“sorry!” you squeak out, your eyes scrunched in embarrassment and you bow your head to hide your expression. you think that if you’re face to face with steve, he’ll be able to feel the heat of the sun coming from your cheeks. worse, he’ll probably ask why. you continue on, gaze watching your feet carefully.

“i— this is my first time doing this,” you say to try and explain, hoping the conversation will drag steve’s attention from your unusual reactions to his touch. the warmth of his hands on your waist is selfishly committing itself to your memory.

“mine too.”

steve’s sheepish admittance surprises you enough to lift your head, your brows drawn in close. you must look perturbed enough because steve laughs, tilting his head back a fraction and your eyes automatically track down his throat, dancing across each mole and freckle. fuck.

“don’t look so surprised,” he says, with eyes light and a casual smile, “i don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

“oh yeah, because those rumors are definitely about you dancing with girls,” you cut him off with a chuckle and steve goes slightly pink. it comes through in his dancing, stumbling a bit over his feet and your hands slip to properly grasp his shoulders, steadying him. steve goes wide-eyed for a moment, long enough to send a bolt of panic through you, but he takes the chance to grab one of your hands and delicately spin you. there’s a swoop in your stomach with how gentle he is with it, carefully making sure you don’t get dizzy. you’re not in love with him.

“no, this, uh, would be the first… proper dance i’ve had. i’ve done?” he scrunches his nose as he questions his sentence. you cling to his every word, your arms settling back around his shoulders, back into that same trance from before. he hasn’t even danced with nancy yet, you realize longingly, but he’s danced with you. with a surge of love, you understand it’s because he trusts you enough to see him stumble and fail. that trust is enough to quell your envy, smiling up at him sincerely.

“well, nancy is very lucky.”

he doesn’t look as though he entirely believes you, his eyes unsure, “you think?”

“you’re gonna sweep her off her feet, steve.”

steve’s smile grows a bit at your affirmation, feeling the rush of confidence your words give him. it’s reflected in how he shifts one palm to your arm before letting it glide down your skin, settling at your wrist. the amount of goosebumps he leaves in his wake are mortifying, but he doesn’t think anything of it as he takes your hand in his.

the mood in the room grows increasingly intimate as you both grip each other a little tighter while continuing through the bridge of the song. then your thoughts turn selfish once again; there’s nothing more you wish to do than rest your forehead against his and let the music and gentle touches communicate to him how you feel. maybe he could figure it out for himself. maybe you wouldn’t have to tell him. maybe it’d all be okay if you didn’t have to say the words out loud.

are you a bad person if you try to enjoy this like he’s your own? you decide you don’t care.

“think i’m gonna tell her tonight.”

and just like that, the daydream dissipates, the haze wiped from your consciousness with his words. you’re reminded why you’re really here, what you really mean to him at this moment. you’re just the practice. the crack in your heart gets a little deeper, a little wider.

it takes every shred of willpower you have to push away the burning behind your eyes. he’s gonna tell her he loves her tonight, and you’ll be forced to watch. his eyes are hopeful, truly hopeful, for maybe the first time in his life. you wish it was meant for you.

you sigh silently, compelling a smile to spread over your face. as much as you want to, you can’t look away from him. your voice is quiet, gentle, packed with everything on your mind. combined with the look in your eyes, it’s baffling he doesn’t figure it out.

“i think… that sounds like a great idea.”

it’s steve’s turn to sigh. once again, your words are the support he needed to hear.

the next song starts to echo through the room and steve’s hands slip from you as quickly as they had settled on your waist. you don’t think it’s dramatic to say he took a chunk of you with him.

“thanks, henderson,” he says with a wink, words pouring over with his appreciation as you drop your arms back to your sides. then you’re grasping your own biceps, fingers holding tightly onto yourself for support as he moves to the stereo to shut it off.

“now we just gotta find your dance partner. don’t worry, i’m still looking at options,” steve adds as he smooths over the fabric of his suit jacket, “only the best for you.”

right — steve’s promise to find you someone, which has been hilariously unsuccessful so far. he swears there’s no one in hawkins good enough for you; you can think of one person who might be. but you force yourself to smile at his words, although you frankly don’t have the mind to take them in. it’s incredibly endearing how much he cares and yet you still can’t accept it as enough. you feel guilty for wanting more from him, especially considering his heart belongs to another. you're not in love with him.

—

jonathan didn’t want to come to this. it was his mom’s idea; joyce assured her son while rolling him for lint that it’d be a good experience.

“you’ll regret not going in a few years, promise”, she had said to him. but in traditional jonathan byers fashion, he arrived at least an hour late. he’s not a junior, but that doesn’t really matter in a town as small as hawkins — he managed to slip in through one of the exit doors down the hall that the chaperones aren’t watching. the gymnasium floor is coated in glitter and confetti; blue, purple, and white against the wood. it’s a miracle no one’s slipping on it.

a majority of his peers are out on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the ballad that bounces through the room. there are a few stragglers; a group of girlfriends who came together, a few couples more interested in swapping spit than dancing, and then… you.

there’s confetti in your hair, a light dusting of glitter against your up-do. your shoes are placed haphazardly onto the table next to your slouched posture, like you had taken them off in a hurry. your fingers are tightly wound in the fabric of your dress as you stare at something, no, someone. it’s the most dejected look jonathan thinks he’s ever seen — nancy and steve are amongst the crowd slow dancing.

it hits him like a truck. he’s had his suspicions over the last few months, but nothing as clear as this. if you weren’t his friend, he’d probably laugh. but he knows that you think it’s just as ridiculous as he does. maybe it was a good idea that he came here after all.

when jonathan sits down beside you, it takes you a couple of seconds to recognize his presence, too wrapped up in the feeling of steve’s hands on your body now committed to your memory. you were imagining it was you out there with him. when you finally acknowledge jonathan, you try to flash him a smile, but there isn’t much of a change in your expression. the distress is embedded too deep.

jonathan doesn’t speak. he doesn’t have to. after a few seconds of sitting in silence, the lyrics from the song you had offered steve flowing through the air, you grow puzzled. jonathan’s gotten up, offering his hand to you. normally, you’d flash him a look like ‘you can’t be serious’, something with a curled lip and raised brow. but right now, with how beat down you feel, you don’t have the energy to turn him down.

jonathan’s hands aren’t as soft as steve’s, but they’re gentle as he leads you to the outskirts of the dance floor. he purposefully chooses a corner far from them. subconsciously, your eyes still search for steve in the crowd, peering over his shoulder as jonathan guides your arms to his neck.

“hey,” jonathan says softly, but with just enough conviction to peel your focus over to him. your irises are still sad, still heavy with the weight of the secret you carry, the secret he understands more than anything. he shakes his head, finally placing his hands on you — don’t worry about them right now.

you close your eyes, tugging yourself a little bit closer, and then closer again until you can rest your chin on his shoulder. you try to forget about them, you really really do. you’re able to only spend a few moments focused on jonathan before your eyes open once more in search of him.

you spot him — you hate that your chest swells. then it’s burning. you’ve never been a particularly good mouth reader, but you’d recognize those three words anywhere; you don’t know how many times you’ve imagined steve muttering them to you.

you’ve stopped breathing, eyes intently focused on him to gauge nancy’s reaction. you can’t see her face, but by the way steve’s just lights up, you know what the answer was.

“hey—”

jonathan stumbles a bit when you abruptly shove yourself away. he catches the expression pinched onto your face — pure, gut-wrenching despair as you can fully turn and begin moving to the door. he manages to grasp your wrist before you can get too far, but you try to pull away instantly. broken tone coming from your lips as you hiccup, “just lemme go, jonathan.”

your face is already overflowing with emotion, large tears beginning to track black mascara down over your cheeks. jonathan feels a kick in his chest; he’s never seen you cry before.

“no, just…” he pauses, tightening his grip on you like you’re going to float away if he lets go, “just let me take you home at least.”

you think on it for a moment. the right thing to do would be to tell steve that you’re leaving. but the thought of him makes your body go numb. you’re definitely in love with him.

all you can muster is a nod.

—

#something something about both you and dustin crying at a school dance.........................................................#ruby and i really cooked with gas on this one #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #almost paradise #almost paradise blurbs

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