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curiositydooropened · 1 year

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Better Off - Part Two

Four years since Argyle's wedding, Robin invited you and the gang to her boss's lake house. Hoping good memories will be made, you're forced to wrestle with some ghosts of your past.

This fic runs in the same Universe as My Whole Life, Too.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader

Wordcount: 14,132

Warnings: second chance romance, angst, fluff, sex and sex adjacent (minors DNI, thanks!), recreational drinking and drug use, mentions of pregnancy and parenthood, mentions of the loss of loved ones

Navigation • Masterlist • Part One

---

Your gaze blurred on ribbons of gold and ivory, stretched and pulled and flipped as a man in candy stripes worked his taffy on its puller. The air smelled sticky sweet of vanilla and lemon and warmth, and you bundled tighter into your sweater with each burst of cold air and ding of a bell at the door.

Another worker with rolled sweets pressed and smacked them onto the countertop, the scattering of beads pulling your focus and stirring you from your daze. She offered a sample with a kind smile, and you thanked her before popping the sticky sour drop into your mouth.

It ached at the stress sore just between your teeth and molars, but you supposed you deserved the slight agony. With a sigh, you dropped your shoulders and allowed Robin to shove you gently back to the cobblestones streets, the outside air a misty chill. Large, grey clouds loomed in the distance, the forecasted storm apt weather for your current state of mind.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Robin groaned for the four hundredth time that day.

You managed to plaster on a smile, though you could feel the dishonesty behind it, and gave her a hand squeeze. “Shut up, please.”

“Yeah, Robin, we’re fine,” Nancy agreed sidling up on her other side, that special Nancy-Wheeler-determination etched between her brows. “All of this shit needed to be aired out anyway. You just facilitated it.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “That makes me feel so much better.”

You shrugged. “I’m glad it’s all coming out now, when I have you two for support.”

Nancy’s facade nearly broke then, the glimmer of emotion in her eyes, but she gave a curt nod. “Me too.”

Robin groaned and started back on your path down the western side of the road. This little lakeside town was full of antique shops and souvenir stores. Every store had something you liked, in a black or navy, or in a Devil red or forest green, smoked charcoal or honeyed yellow. You’d given up a few stores ago now, understanding the Universe was just mocking you.

Other than the looming storm clouds and the lingering guilt from the night before, you supposed you were having a lovely, if not much-needed girls day. In any other scenario, you’d be delighted to walk such a pristine little village, smelling the early summer buds and tasting at each little eatery along the route. Plus, the company was ideal.

“Robs, I’m coming to visit you immediately, I hope you know,” you linked your arm with hers and fell into step. “You’ll never see me because I’ll spend the entire trip holed up in a bakery, elbow-deep in baguettes, but I’ll be there. You’ll teach me French?”

“Bien sûr,” she snickered, tugging you into a vintage clothing shop.

The window display had a little black dress á la Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and the place smelled of mothballs and rose-scented perfume. It reminded you a bit of your grandmother, on your mother’s side. She had an oversized hatbox that was passed down to you, chock full of love letters from soldiers in the war.

A similar hatbox sat near the register, pale pink and pressed satin, and you jimmied the top off to see if any secrets lay inside. No love letters, but a collection of multicolored silk scarves. You pulled one from the top, white with thin, navy Breton stripes and tied it around your neck. “What do you think, Robin? Will I fit right in?”

Robin abandoned her post near an oversized button bin, hands already full, and waggled her eyebrows, dropping her haul to the countertop. “It’s perfect,” she chuckled, caressing it between her thumb and forefinger.

You watched her blue eyes scan your features, smile softening, and eventually her padded shoulders dropped in a sigh.

“You can’t run away to France with me.”

You smiled at that. “Why not?”

She shook her fringe from her eyes. “Eddie’s not mad at you, you know.”

You swallowed, nodded. “I know. I’m still going to apologize.”

“And for what it’s worth,” she dug through the box in front of you, avoiding your gaze. “Steve did love you, maybe does love you.”

You sighed and untied the scarf around your throat, suddenly suffocated by the stuffy air in here. “Steve loves the idea of me.” You pinched at the bridge of your nose, remembering you were talking to his best friend too. “I just mean… I don’t think it’s fair to start something again when I can’t be certain how I’d like to finish it.”

Robin nodded. “I can appreciate that stance. It’s very… mature.” She commented with the flair for dramatics that would put Eddie to shame, pulling a rose-covered scarf from the box with a flourish and tying it around her head.

You snorted.

“Guys,” Nancy’s voice was so meek from the corner of the room, you barely recognized it. When you turned, she was holding the world’s smallest knit sweater, navy blue with a great white whale, and she was crying.

—

You recognized the calm from ten years of coastal living. That sweet, soft lull in birdsong, the electricity in the air. Clouds blackened the sky, and off-shore docks groaned under whitecaps’ wake. You stood in your room, looking out the tiny window at the billowing tops of trees, fingers idling at the satin ribbon around your neck, Robin’s treat. You couldn’t focus in the silence, only hearing the thrum of your heart against your ribcage. You could sense Eddie in the room next door, could feel smoke and anxiety attached to a string around your finger, reminding you of the atrocities you’d enacted. Calm before the storm.

With a deep breath and a decided snap of tension, you toed out of the room, floorboard creaking with each step toward atonement.

Only, Eddie’s room was empty, door wide, belonging strewn about like he’d moved in. His window was bigger than yours, curtains drawn and window cracked. A cool breeze whipped around your knees, billowing the soft chiffon of your skirt. You sighed and crossed, moving a handmade ashtray from the window sill to the side table. A well-loved copy of A Wizard of Earthsea sat beside the lamp, dog-eared to all Hell.

You tugged the window down and latched it when something glinted to the North, catching your eye.

From this vantage, you could just make out the tip of the dock, and the boat in its mooring, rocking mercilessly back and forth. You cursed and turned heel to find Steve waiting in the doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes turned up at you like he’d been waiting and didn’t know what to say.

“Did you guys wind the boat up?” You asked before he had a chance to speak.

He opened his mouth, brows furrowed, and that was enough of an answer to have you shoving past him and down the staircase to slip into your sneakers and out the front door.

“What are you-?” Robin called out from her cozy spot on the sofa.

You waved her off with a “Be right back!” and let the slap of rubber to wood lead you down the winding staircase, past the patio and fire pit, and to the end of the dock. Halfway there, you heard Steve calling after you, heard his curses, the distinct thud of his own feet on your tail.

The boat swayed under its awning. Steve’s voice was lost on the wind. Waves thrashed against rocky shores.

“Hold that steady!” You called after him, pointing to the bow, and he rushed as instructed, wind whipping at auburn hair, the navy collar of his polo.

The boat had been placed under the dock, tied to a safeguard by a tight rope, but you knew that if it wasn’t cranked upwards and out of the water, the metal casing surrounding it could cause some serious damage, depending on the intensity of the storm. And, as you put all of your strength and effort into cranking the oversized metal wheel, the storm began to show you just how intense it could get.

Wind rushed between your legs, stretched wide for leverage, slicking your skirt to your thighs as the sky opened up and rain began to pour. A deluge of oversized drops, ice cold, that trampled your hair and soaked your skin, slipping your fingers from their handhold. You cursed, but Steve was right there to help, hair stuck to his temples, biceps flexed as he cranked the boat upward and out of the water.

You hated that you couldn’t look away, frigid wet to the bone, standing between Steve and the house, waves spraying the shoreline, unmoving as he stared back at you, blinking away rainwater, licking it from his lips.

A crack of thunder startled you both, and you ran, slipped on the wet floorboards of the dock to be caught in strong arms, hands that gripped your cardigan at your waist line and pulled you in close, warm, led you to an abandoned beach hut to wait out the storm.

The space was musty and dark and damp, and you were uncomfortable under skin-slicked clothes, pressed against a splintering wooden bench with molding life vests in neon orange. Steve hovered over you, breath heavy in his warm chest, droplets from his hair shaken into your eyelashes and across the tops of your cheeks. His hands remained on your waist, a tether, a buoy, anchoring himself to you and you to the ground for each roll of thunder from above.

Rain pelted the tin roof too loud to hear the racing of your heart, too loud to hear your own anxiety screaming at you to leave, to run back up the hill to safety, too loud to stop you.

Steve’s grip tightened on your waist, tugging at the material of your skirt, and the tip of his nose met your temple, ice-cold, in a line. Then his cheek was pressed to yours, stubble and sunscreen. His breath warmed the lobe of your ear.

You helped him lift you onto the bench, the whole thing wobbling under your weight, but you had faith in his grasp on you, his weight between your legs as he helped to hitch your skirt up one thigh, material tacky to goose-pimpled flesh. His hands were ice-cold, but you were on fire as he trailed fingertips from your hip to your knee, hooking your leg up higher on his hip.

Another roll of thunder wracked through his shoulders, a quake around your frame that you squaring him to face you. His expression was unreadable, pupils wide, but lips drawn downward, jaw clenched. His far-off gaze lingered on your lips, and he licked his own, pawing at the underside of your thigh.

This was the moment of no return. You knew it. You knew he could feel it. Something deep inside was clawing its way up, trying to remind you of all of the heartache you’d endured in the last four years, but the rain wouldn’t let up, and his hand kneaded your flesh in a way that felt so right, so familiar, felt like home.

You caught his elbow to stop his movements, and he tensed, shoulders receding in defeat, like he’d just been waiting for you to stop him, like his mind had been racing like your own.

You breathed his name, like a prayer, and his gaze snapped back to yours. “Touch me.”

Drowning your better judgement, you trailed your fingers down the rope of muscles in his forearm to grasp at his wrist and guide his hand to where you needed him most.

God, it felt like coming home. Steve’s hands were made for you, a perfect form to all of the places you needed him, as if he’d made you himself. You were plaster, and he Michaelangelo. He flattened creases formed over time from wear and stress, and kneaded them smooth and soft.

He stretched and hit places that had your eyelids alight with stardust, places you hadn’t hit in years. Your fingernails caught on the breadth of his shoulders and the rain against the roof dampened the sinful sounds pouring from each of your open mouths. He worked you like he’d been born to do it, a sailor devoted to a life at sea, or rather returning from too many years landlocked, eager and determined.

He muttered affirmations hot and damp against the shell of your ear that had you keening, begging for him to keep going, desperate to stay afloat, until the band snapped and the buoy became untethered, rope unraveling within you.

The rainfall slowed and the sunlight fell in shallow waves across patches in the siding. Your breath evened against the damp planes of Steve’s throat. Clarity began to sharpen the softened edges. A chill wracked through you, soaked through, and you forced him from your space. Gently, you hopped from the bench, skirt falling around shaky knees.

The beach hut door opened with a creak, and you stepped out into the sun.

—

Your eyes remained unfocused on the candlelight, too warm and itchy under an afghan and dry clothes to listen to the nostalgia being shared in the adjacent seating room. You hadn’t left the dining table, reassuring everyone you were fine, just exhausted, when you hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of your dinner. All you could focus on was Steve’s grip around the top of his beer bottle, condensation dripping between the soft pads of his fingers.

“Hey.”

You startled at the intrusion, and tried to blink away the residual flickers in your eyesight, focusing instead on the forlorn look on Jonathan’s face as he scooted into the seat beside you, offering a chocolate bar. You took it with a soft smile, peeling back the plastic wrapping and hunkering further into your patched blanket.

“Remember last month when we were eating pizza at 3AM, laughing about how crazy this trip would be,” he released that cheeky half-smile you hadn’t seen since he’d heard the news.

You snorted, snapping off a section of chocolate to let melt on your tongue. You rolled your eyes, passing it back for him to break off a piece. “Yeah, how’re you feeling?”

He sighed, ran a hand down his face, shrugged. You watched him stare into the flame for a while.

When he didn’t speak, you reached your hand out to take his, and he met your gaze again with a wry smile, squeezing your hand. “At least I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

“You will?” You grinned.

He shrugged. “Unless Nancy wants to move overseas. But if that’s the case, I suppose we’ll just take you with us.”

Your heart ached at the sentiment, and you felt your emotions start to stick in your throat. He was moving to be with her. He was dropping everything he loved, everything he had, to be with Nancy, wherever her dreams took her. And although that made you wildly happy for them, it also further drove home that ache in the pit of you, that spot that hurt.

A pair of knuckles wrapped at the doorway, stirring your attention from Jonathan. Nancy and Eddie stood side-by-side, hands shoved into pockets or hid in the sleeves of oversized sweaters. Nancy mumbled a goodnight, tiny frame dwarfed beside the gangly man beside her, both of their curls haloed in candlelight.

“I’ll go with you,” Jonathan hoisted himself upright, planting a soft kiss to your cheek before he followed Nancy up the winding staircase and into the darkness beyond.

Eddie lingered, shuffling closer to break a piece off your candy bar on the table. “Hey,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” you sighed. You hadn’t spoken to him all day. More accurately, you’d been avoiding him all day.

Another burst of laughter echoed from the living room. Eddie nodded toward the kitchen and moved the chocolate to his cheek to ask, “Wanna chat?”

With a swallow and a nod, you pulled your chair out from the table and gathered your unfinished dinner plate to follow him into the kitchen, discarding your blanket at your place setting.

Eddie sidled up to a counter, silhouetted in moonlight, and he stayed silent while you scraped your scraps into the garbage and rinsed your plate. When you were finished, you hoisted yourself to the countertop beside him, shoulder’s hunched, heels kicking at the baseboard cabinet. The light flickered warm from the other rooms, laughter trickling in in intervals of hushed tones.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you both simultaneously, followed by a snicker of understanding. You elbowed him, and he swayed dramatically, sinking his weight back into you.

“Shut up,” you scolded. “I’m actually sorry. I was being a dick. You did nothing wrong.”

“That’s not true,” Eddie countered. “You didn’t deserve what I said. At least, not the way I said it.”

You sighed and linked your arm with his, resting your head atop his bony shoulder. You felt the press of lips to the crown of your head, his cheek to your hair.

“You do know I just want you to be happy, right? And that I love you?”

“I know,” you smiled, tilting your head to kiss at the seam of his band tee. “I love you too.”

“I, uh…” He raked a hand down his face, callouses catching on stubble. “I talked to Steve today, while you guys were out. He told me what he said to you.”

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I told him to grow up.”

You pulled yourself upright to see that Cheshire grin poking dimples into pale cheeks.

“And that him hating it just made me want to do you even more. With him watching.”

“Eddie!” You shoved at his shoulder, and once again he sunk further into you, hiding a cackle behind his hand. “You perv.”

“Come on, you know he’d be into that.”

Your face heated at the idea. Your mind flashed back to that dark look in Steve’s eyes, in the beach hut, watching you get off on his thick, warm fingers, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the steady rise and fall of his broad chest beneath your palms.

“I would to,” Eddie elbowed you out of your daydream, and you landed a punch, harder this time.

“Stop!”

He snickered and dodged your next attack, rubbing the sore spot you’d left on his bicep. “You’re fiesty under emotional duress.” He grinned. “What does it say about me that I find that really sexy?”

“That you need help,” you snorted.

He caught your wrist and pressed your hand to his sternum, deepening his voice. “Yeah I do, sweetheart.”

You scoffed as his rumble turned into a laugh, and since you couldn’t take your hand back, you gripped his t-shirt to pull him closer, resting your forehead to his chest. He tucked you under his jaw and released your wrist in favor of wrapping you in a tight hug. Cigarette smoke and sunscreen and rumbled laughter and lithe limbs and still, somehow, it wasn’t enough. Something dammed at your throat, and you clenched every muscle in your body to rid yourself of the anxiety building.

Eddie began soothing ministrations up and down your spine. “You need to talk to him.” He mumbled into your temple, breath hot and chocolatey against your skin. “I mean, really talk to him. Like just the two of you, hash it out for hours. You get out everything you need to. Let him tell his part. We both know you won’t be able to make a decision until you get everything out on the table and really look at it, as a whole.”

You swallowed, your throat dry. “Make a decision?”

He pulled away, pressing soft hands to your cheeks, dark eyes beneath a furrowed brow. “Promise me something?”

You hummed.

“Promise me you’ll talk to him sometime this week. It can be right before we leave, for all I care. But I need you to tell me what you figured out before you get on that plane.”

There was something hopeful in his gaze, features softened to that lost little boy you’d tutored. There were too many meanings behind his words, too many things that spun in your mind and caught somewhere in the ventricles of your heart. “Eddie…” You muttered.

He released your face and wiped nervous hands to his jeans, suddenly shier than you’d seen him in years. “Christ, I didn’t mean it as like an ultimatum or anything. I’m not that guy.” Not like Steve. He scratched at the back of his neck, took a few steps backward. “I just need to know if I need to hide the liquor bottles or if Hawkins’ is getting a new resident.”

God, why did each phrase feel like an extra stab in the gut?

“I’m sorry,” Eddie stammered a laugh, wrapping ringed fingers against the flat plane of his chest. “I think I’ve had too much to drink.” He never drank more than one.

You reached your hand out, stretched all the way across the gap until the tips of your fingers brushed the silver of his rings.

He sighed and took your grasp, allowed you to pull him back into you.

“I promise I’ll talk to him,” you chewed on the inside of you cheek, ducked to catch his gaze. “And I promise I’ll talk to you.”

The dimple tucked into his cheek beside those plump, pink lips, stretched thin in an awkward smile. He nodded. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

Then, he leaned to press his lips to yours. It was chaste, soft, a cascade of curls around your face, and lithe fingertips against your cheekbone. Your eyes didn’t have time to flutter closed. Then he was kissing your knuckles and bending his slender frame into a dramatic bow.

“Goodnight, m’lady.”

You managed a choked laugh. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

—

Kneading dough was grounding, cathartic. It made you feel like everything was right in the world. Soft, sticky between flour-caked knuckles, the dull thud against the rolling board, the squeaky wheels of the rolling pin, the sweet smell of apples caramelizing in a nearby mixing bowl, all of it felt like heaven to you. You were at peace with an apron tied around your waist, lakeside wind sweeping in through the opened window, oven making the small space a bit stuffy and warm.

The others were down at the patio, or out on the water, you weren’t sure. You stayed behind to think, to clear your mind, to distract yourself from the constant tipping of a scale one direction or the other. You’d tossed and turned all night thinking of Steve’s hands and Eddie’s lips and the complications to your life that each one brought. So you decided midmorning should be spent centering yourself, alone with your craft, and at peace.

You’d pressed the dough into its tin, trimming the edges and balling the scraps to be rolled and cut into strips for a lattice work top. You poured the apple slice mixture, all cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg and clove, watching the sun sparkle against their wet flesh. You indulged in licking the spoon, tangy and sticky. Then you sprinkled flour to your surface again to start rolling out the remaining dough, humming to yourself as the birds chirped outside.

You flattened and cut and worked a lattice and ate the scraps, admiring your handiwork before you placed it into the oven and set the little wind-up timer on the stovetop. It was shaped like an egg. Your mom had one when you were young. It disappeared somewhere over time, or in the move. You contemplated stealing this one.

You poured yourself some fresh-squeezed lemonade, tart and sweet, and leaned yourself against the countertop. You watched the sparkle of waves just off-shore and sipped and tried not to allow your mind to wander until the subject of your wandering mind entered your kitchen with mussed hair and sun kissed skin, pulling expensive sunglasses from the freckled bridge of his nose.

“Smells amazing,” Steve smiled, reaching past you for a glass to pour himself some lemonade. You watched his forearm handle the full pitcher with care. You watched the length of his throat as he drank. You watched his tongue dart to lick a drop from the corner of pink lips. He set himself against the counter opposite you, ten feet away and still too close.

“Where’s everyone else?” You asked, praying for Robin to come prancing in with a bucket of ice cold water.

“On the boat. They just left.” He set his glass beside him. “We should talk about yesterday.”

You turned to start the washing up, sink full of mixing bowls and measuring cups. The counter was white with flour. You turned the tap on hot, and the rushing of water into a metal sink had your brain buzzing with images of rain against the tin roof of the hut. You swallowed. “Yesterday was a mistake.”

You weren’t even sure you said it out loud, didn’t dare look to him for confirmation. You just held your front two fingers under the water to gauge temperature, although to be honest, you wouldn’t be able to tell scalding from freezing right now anyway.

“Sure, yeah, totally,” his tone was oddly light. Out of your peripherals, you caught him entering your space, sidling up to the opposite side of you now. He smelled of expensive cologne, deliciously Steve. “Or… we could just make some adjustments to our truce.”

You looked up at him then, caught breathless by the dark look in his eyes. You swallowed. “What?”

He shrugged, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Well, we agreed to be civil and not bring up the past.” He held your gaze. “We only have a couple of days left. Might as well… I don’t know, make the most of it?” His jaw was firm, but there was something playful in his tone, a fire behind his eyes you hadn’t seen in years.

You scoffed. “You’re serious?”

He shrugged again, leaned into your space to brush flour from your shoulder, sweeping your hair back as he did so. God, he was good. “You had fun, didn’t you?”

“Steve,” you peeled yourself away, scrubbing melted sugar from the rim of a measuring cup.

“Come on,” he boxed you in, his frame folding around yours, warm and broad and strong. “You’re on vacation.” The tip of his nose found the shell of your ear, sending sparks from skull to tailbone. “You deserve to relax, babe.”

Babe. So flippant, so casual. It’s what he called you, before, when it was just the two of you playing house in hotel rooms. You elbowed him off of you, grateful when he respected your boundaries and stood a few more feet away.

With a sigh, you turned off the faucet, only the singular measuring cup squeaky clean. You dried your hands on a hand towel embroidered with dairy cow and its milkmaid, and you turned to face Steve.

He had a fantastic pokerface, to add to the list of vast differences between he and his housemate. Where Eddie showed every last thought that came into his mind, Steve remained stoic, strong brow furrowed, jaw tight, keen eyes watching your every movement. He kept his shoulders squared, but lax, and his strong arms kept him upright against the lip of the counter, strong arms you were desperate to have wrapped around you again.

“Be civil, no bringing up the past, and have fun while it lasts,” you agreed before your brain caught up with your words.

All at once, Steve crowded your space again, pressing your backside to the damp countertop, an arm to either side of your hips, dipping his nose to meet yours.

You pressed your fingertips to his chest to push him away a few more inches. “Don’t call me babe.”

His lips split into a grin at that, and he chuckled a low rumble in his chest. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

He was eager, so eager, and you felt the buzz in your waist, the flutter under your sternum. You watched his tongue wet soft, pink lips, and were suddenly reminded of the third grade, of Tommy H.’s birthday, of the surprise smooch in a treehouse and of wanting to savor that kiss for the rest of your life. As Steve dipped his head low once more, you turned to face the oven, ducking away.

“And I’m not going to kiss you.” An odd boundary you didn’t know you had until it was there, presenting itself in a panic clawing at your chest. You just knew if you kissed him, you’d be done for. You’d be packing everything you owned into a U-haul and signing the lease next to his name. Just like Eddie said.

Steve’s stoic facade seemed to falter for a split second before he nodded and pulled away. He eyed you for a beat too long before he lowered his voice to ask, “Am I allowed to kiss you?” And the implications in his tone had your knees weakening.

You swallowed in a vain attempt to lubricated a parched throat, and nodded.

He emitted a groan from somewhere deep, and you bit down hard on your lip as you watched King Steve Harrington sink to his knees before you, hands traveling up your skirt to knead at the flesh of your thighs like it grounded him, like it made everything right in the world.

He tugged your shirt free from the waistband of your apron and skirt, watching you, amber eyes painted black. His breath was hot against your stomach, your hip bone. “Can you see the front door?” He asked.

You peeled your gaze from him to look through the entry way to the front door. You nodded.

“Good. Keep watch for me, sweet girl.”

—

“Scale of 1-10, how hot do I look?” Robin did a pose, hair stuffed under a wide-brimmed hat and blue blazer sleeves rolled.

“Ten,” you and Nancy affirmed simultaneously, blotting your own pink lipsticks in the full-length mirror on the back of Robin’s bedroom door. You wore a low-cut blouse with flowy sleeves, and Nancy looked sleek in black, and she helped stick a bobby pin into your scalp when a curl threatened to fall out of place.

“What are the odds there’s a single, hot lesbian looking for a hook up?”

“At a country western bar?” Nancy peered back at your friend, and you chuckled.

“Robin,” you reassured. “I promise there will be at least one single, hot lesbian looking for a hook up.”

Robin sighed. “Yeah. Me.”

She’d picked the venue for your night out, spotted it on your walk through town the previous morning, and convinced the group to go after their late evening naps. The sky had started to soak in peaches and golds, and the warmth had cooled from a breeze that billowed curtains and chilled your fevered cheeks. You’d spent the day distracted, praying no one would notice the smile that ached at the corners of your lips. You were thankful for the excuse to be chipper.

“Ladies, I need advice,” Argyle called from beyond the door, and you gently led Nancy to the side so you could open it to meet him. He wore a leather vest with a spearmint button-up beneath it, and in his hands were two ties, one a shocking pink, the other a bolo with a cubic design in brass.

“Bolo, always,” you confirmed.

“That’s what I said!” Eddie called from the next room over.

“Alright,” Argyle nodded and toed back to his own room to put his tie on in a mirror.

Nancy slipped out beside you to meet Jonathan at the top of the stairs. Your heart ached in your chest when you watched his lips meet her temple, and his hand slip into hers. They shared sweet words and walked down the stairs together.

Robin shoved past you. “Sorry, gotta brush my teeth. Will you check on Steve for me? You know he always takes the longest.”

You stood in her doorway for a long moment, staring at the wood of Steve’s bedroom door from across the hall. Your hands clammed up at your sides, but you released a held breath and closed the distance to wrap your knuckles against the panels.

“Come in,” he called from inside, and you turned the handle and pushed yourself inside.

Steve’s room was a mirror of your own, window facing the water, slanted ceiling, headboard against the opposite wall. His bed was neatly made, pillows stacked at attention just like his mom taught him. The bedside lamp illuminated everything soft and warm.

Steve stood at a dresser putting on his watch, forest green polo taught over the muscles of his back. He glanced up at you when you entered, cheeks turning up in a grin. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” you breathed back, propping yourself against the wall beside the door. “Robin wanted me to tell you to hurry up.”

“I’m ready,” he held his hands out to show himself off, and you admired the stretch of denim across his thighs.

“You look good,” you affirmed, swallowing when he closed the distance between you, eyes flickering to the hallway just to your right hand side.

When the coast was apparently clear, he placed a hand on your waist. “So do you. Tonight should be fun.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you nodded. You felt giddy again, like he had you pressed up against the school lockers, hiding from the principal between classes.

“Yeah?” His voice graveled, and he pressed himself even closer, wedging his thigh between your legs.

“Dingus! You ready or what?” Robin shouted, and all at once, Steve was gone, his warmth replaced by cool breeze.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he groaned, fidgeting with the watch at his wrist. “Thanks for the help,” he waved it your direction, and you furrowed your brow before noticing Robin’s head poked through the doorway.

She narrowed her eyes your direction, but grabbed Steve’s other wrist to lead him out and down the stairs.

You took a minute to calibrate, a few calming breaths, before you followed them. When you rounded into the hallway, you startled at the sight of Eddie in his own doorway, lithe frame covered in black, damp curls hung in his eyes. That dimple carved deep into his cheek.

“You look smoking hot,” he greeted.

You rolled your eyes but hooked your hand into his elbow and let him escort you down the stairs to meet the others.

—

Tequila was great after the initial burn. Once the tang of lime shocked your taste buds, you were smooth sailing. The music was live and loud. The room filled with smoke and the sweet smell of alcohol. Wooden walls were lined with neon beer logos and antlers. A dart board sat in one corner, a pool table in another. You were warmed from the inside, tingling fingertips and toes.

The first round alone had you doing things you ought not, like catching Steve’s gaze over the top of Nancy’s head. He’d been staring, lips glossy and eyes hungry, and you couldn’t look away until Argyle bought round two.

Round three had you on the dance floor, pressed against the warm rumble of Eddie’s chest while he hummed a balad just under the crooning of the band’s lead singer. Flirting with Eddie was another thing you ought not do, but holding back felt impossible, tequila or no. Especially when he held you so close, thigh between your knees, swaying you back and forth to some slow and sultry tune.

“Have I told you you look smoking hot tonight?” He indulged in another rake of your features, not shy from peaking down your blouse.

You sucked your cheeks between your teeth to avoid the smile aching at them and managed to shrug. “Might’ve mentioned it.”

He chuckled, shaking his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, I like that top.”

“I look better without it,” you countered, cocking a brow.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” His dark eyes shone under dim lighting, and his plump lips turned up at the corners. He was all curls, cigarettes and spearmint, and something in his eyes sank your heart. It was Eddie’s heart on his sleeve again, that poker face slipping just long enough to show you the longing beyond the lust.

You swallowed and placed a hand to his cheek, thumbing over scruff and stubble. His name caught in your throat.

“Song’s almost over,” he mumbled, nuzzling his nose with yours. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded, and the air was expelled from your lungs when he dipped you low. He gripped your thigh at his waist, and you felt the trail of his nose up your sternum and throat as he pulled you upright, breathless and warmed.

Your audience whooped and hollered from their high-top.

Stage shy, you allowed Eddie to take your hand and tug you back to the table. His grip was strong, thumb administering distraction circles upon your wrist. Nancy slid you a full glass of iced water, and you thanked her for it.

“Okay, why the fuck are you both so hot?” Robin scoffed, chugging her own red plastic cup of water.

“Born this way, Buckley. Don’t act so shocked.” Eddie reached over to flick her forehead, and she swatted at him.

“She’s right though,” Jonathan pitched in, saucy grin playing on boyish features. He slung an arm around Nancy’s shoulder, and she grimaced before shoving him off.

“Yeah, you guys should make a porno,” Argyle nodded, mustache turned down in thought before he snapped his fingers. “Baker and the Beast.”

“Jesus Christ,” you snorted, thankful for the water to hide your warming face. You took a long drink, praying for the ice to cool you down.

“Sex Dungeon Master,” Robin chimed in, and you nearly did a spit take.

“Full Metal Banging,” Steve piped in to everyone’s surprise. You looked up at him to see a playful smirk across those sinful lips, and he shrugged, nodded, took another sip of his beer. “I’d watch it.” Something in you ached at the low tones of his voice.

Eddie shook a ringed finger Steve’s direction. “I fucking knew it! I knew you liked to watch. Harrington, you dirty dog!”

Steve merely shrugged, pokerface stoic again while his eyes offered you something more salacious. You wondered if the rest of them caught him staring the way you did, wondered if they could tell what transpired between the two of you in the beach hut, in the kitchen.

A new song kicked on, much faster, more familiar than the last, and Eddie finally released your hand, now cold and clammy, to snap his fingers in Robin’s direction. “Come on, Buckley. Your turn.”

Robin sighed and extended a hand for him to take. “Fine, but no cleavage licking.”

“Come on,” Eddie whined, and before they trailed off to the dance floor, you heard him say, “I washed my tits before we came!”

You laughed and fell into a spot beside Nancy, avoiding Steve’s gaze as you drank your water and attempted to sober yourself up. Maybe three was your limit, maybe two, but you felt just primed enough to give away all of your secrets.

“Nancy,” Argyle stood from his seat and tightened the bolo around his neck. “May I have this dance?”

Before the warmth of Nancy beside you had been replaced by air conditioning and the smell of stale beer, a strong hand had slipped itself between your knuckles.

“Jonathan, watch the table,” Steve said, pulling you onto the dance floor.

Under a swirl of lights, and to the fast rhythm of bass and drums, you were tucked close to Steve’s front and backed toward the center of the dance floor. People swung and dipped around you, and Steve bobbed and weaved your way through them with laughter rumbling deep in his chest. God, you missed that sound.

He was wildly off tempo, and a little off-balance, but maybe that was the tequila affecting your equilibrium. He had one hand to the small of your back, the other swinging wildly, and he stepped on your toes more than once.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” you leaned in to shout into the shell of his ear.

He pulled back to shoot you an incredulous look before pulling you in close again, breath hot on the side of your face. “You taught me how to dance.”

You shook your head, but released a laugh that bubbled high in your chest. “I did not!”

“Yes you did,” he argued. “At prom. I told you I didn’t know how to dance, and you promised you’d teach me. So if I’m horrible, that’s on you.”

You smiled into his chest, and allowed your mind to wander. You wondered what she would think of you now, senior-you, prom-going-you. You wondered how she’d feel, swept around a dance floor in King Steve’s arms all these years later.

You could still remember walking down the staircase to meet him. You could still see the flush of his cheeks when he saw you, could remember the distinct kick of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey, dingus!” Robin’s voice sliced through your memories. You blinked back into focus to find her and Eddie beside you. Eddie was using Robin’s hand to swat at Steve’s side.

“Will you two grow up?” Steve scolded, ever the dad of the group.

“We have a question for you two,” she ignored him, continuing to prod at his bicep and then yours when he spun you to use as a human shield.

“What?” You laughed.

“What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?” Robin’s voice carried over the music, swam in your head, heated you from the inside out as you felt the stares of intrigue from your dance partner and hers.

You snorted, shook your head, and avoided their gaze. “Yeah, I’m not answering that.”

Robin booed you.

“You’re so drunk!” You laughed.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned, sidling up beside Steve. He had mischief in his eyes. “We can handle it.”

Steve squared up then, stopped your sway, and his mouth stretched into an equally devilish grin. “Yeah, Munson can handle it.”

You cocked a brow, still in Steve’s grasp, and looked straight into Eddie’s big, brown eyes, conjuring a memory you knew would earn a reaction from the both of them. “Campsite at the coast? Back of the car?”

Eddie nodded, big, dramatic, hair swinging in front of his face. He pointed at Robin. “That’s what I said!”

“Holy shit, Harrington, you want some ice for that burn?” Robin cackled, high-fiving you and Eddie both.

When you found Steve’s gaze again, he was blinking back at you, mouth slightly ajar. You tried and failed to bite back the giggle that bubbled in your chest, doubling over into his stunned chest while you wheezed a laugh, tequila taking over.

You heard Robin and Eddie yell run and squeal beside you, and when you looked up, they were spinning manically away. Steve’s mouth had closed, and he licked at his molars, nodding slowly. You worried for half a second before the corner of his mouth turned up, and he spun you away and back. You yelped, narrowly avoiding a speaker.

You crashed into his chest and laughed the tune of his own rhythmic chuckle, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck to hold yourself steady.

“If I had known this is what it’d take to make you happy, I’d have gone down on you at the beginning of the week,” Steve grinned.

“Steve!” You admonished, glancing around to make sure no one was around to hear what he’d said. You were far from the table now, and definitely out of earshot.

“Tell me about the campsite.” When you met his gaze again, it was that same delicious look that set you on fire from the inside out, unwavering.

You breathed his name again, faltering a little on your feet, but he caught you.

“Come on,” he swayed your hips in his hands. “I gotta study my competition if I want to know how to come out on top.”

You licked your lips, searched his honeyed eyes for any sign of a trap, but he was just as tipsy as you were. Tequila painted the hollows of his cheeks pink. “It was the middle of the day. Campers everywhere. We had to be quiet.”

Steve’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His grip on your waist tightened, and he pulled you impossibly closer. You could feel every ripple of muscle beneath the luxurious fabric of his top. He looked around the room before his eyes trailed your face, your lips, down the front of your blouse and back. “This is a room full of people, and the music’s so loud you wouldn’t have to be quiet.”

His words sent heat through you.“You’re drunk,” you sucked in a smile and glanced back across the room at Jonathan drooping in his seat, a soft smile on his face as he watched Nancy and Argyle dance. Robin and Eddie twirled and dipped in a far-off corner.

Steve pressed the tip of his nose to the baby hairs at your forehead. “So take advantage of me.”

In that moment, you realized Steve Harrington could be dangerous, commanding, a force to be reckoned with.

—

The hot, sticky glow of three shots of tequila faded to heart palpitations and a burn in your calves. Though, that could be the dancing, the grin that ached at your features, the early morning burrito, or the anticipation that kept you buzzing, bouncing the balls of your bare feet against floorboards while you counted the creaks and footsteps outside your door.

You turned in earlier than the others, feigning exhaustion related to old age, just to prop yourself against the headboard for nearly an hour before the raucous laughter died down beneath you and the sounds of your compatriots readying themselves for bed filtered in under your bedroom door.

Anxiety replaced that warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You listened to Robin’s hiccups on high-alert, pulse thudding to her steady rhythm. You toed to the door, pressed your ear to the wood to listen to the mutterings of goodnight, the faucet running in the bathroom, the steady pad of feet just beyond.

Your hand hovered over the lock on your brass knob, but you snatched it away, pacing to the foot of your bed and back. Once, twice, three times. You caught your reflection in a mirror above the bedside. You’d left your makeup on, curled hair falling around your shoulders in tendrils. The bra you wore beneath an oversized t-shirt pinched at the skin under your arm, but it was the prettiest you’d packed in periwinkle lace to match the panties hiding beneath plaid night shorts.

You were making a mistake. Throat dry, you crossed back to the door, reaching for the knob to lock it and turn yourself in for the night.

The cool brass turned under your touch, and the door swung your way, narrow, allowing a shadowed figure to step into the honeyed glow of your bedside lamp.

“Hi,” Steve smiled, towering over you, breath fresh and hair mussed.

You swallowed. “Hi.”

“Sorry,” he hissed, closing the door behind himself. The click emitted feather-light. “Robin wouldn’t let us go to bed. I was worried you fell asleep.”

You shook your head, managed a weak smile. “Nope.”

“Good,” he said. “Are you cold?” His warm fingertips ghosted the skin beneath the hem of your shorts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

You shivered, shook your head again, allowing your eyelids to go heavy as his other hand came to cradle to your cheek.

“Do you still want to do this?”

He had the power to see right through you, always had. You released a shaky breath, shoulders to your ears in a shrug. You swallowed. “I don’t know.” Honesty spilled out. You hadn’t felt this vulnerable with him since Louisville, not this nervous, not this jittery.

A crease tucked between his brows, and he dropped his hand from your thigh to catch your fingertips in his. “I’m not going to push you.”

“I know,” you squeezed his knuckles, hands dwarfing yours. “You never have.”

He smiled at that, nodded toward the bed. “Want to just hang out?”

You nodded and drew him to soft covers and an old mattress. It sunk under your weight, a burst of air puffing out between you as Steve plopped himself down, hands resting on his chest, hair splayed against patchwork. You were drawn to him, fingers itching to run themselves through his hair, to trace the bridge of his nose, connect-the-dots with his freckles, but you hesitated, tucking your knees to your chest.

He turned his head to look at you, lazy smile crossing beautiful, dark features. “I’m glad I sobered up.”

“Yeah?” You were on the fence.

“Yeah.” He groped around the blankets until he found your hand at your side. He massaged at your wrist, your palm, wide stroke with his thumb that smoothed aching joints and eased your mind. He pulled you ever-closer, before trailing your pointer finger over the bridge of his nose. His lashes fluttered closed, and he hummed as you painted his cheekbones with your fingertips, catching on the stubble of his jaw. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered. He brought your fingertips to his lip, soft and pink and damp. You exhaled his name.

He looked at you then, eyes dark, and placed a kiss to your palm, your wrist, the flesh of your forearm, tugging you gently from your fold until you leaned over him, your hair a curtain separating you both from the glow of the bedside lamp. “Do you want me to leave?”

Your throat was dry, your breath staggered. You shook your head.

Steve’s hands found your waist, smooth dregs of his palms up your ribcage until his thumbs met the underwire of your bra. “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath when his hands worked higher, palming at silk and lace.

“I need to hear you say it, babe,” his voice was hoarse, thick.

You faltered on the pet name, a rule broken, his eyelids heavy, warm hands on your breasts, but you didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to worry or panic. So you washed it all away, pushed guilt to the back of your mind, and threw a leg over him to straddle his slender waist. “I want you, Steve.”

He sat up, pushing you both upright to drag the soft cotton of your top up and over your head. He groaned at the sight of you, and you felt his lips find purchase at the crux of your throat and shoulder, his mouth wet and warm.

You sunk your fingertips into his scalp, indulging in the vibrations of his voice against your skin.

He pushed the lacy straps down your arms, pressing soft kisses into the bits of flesh that were creased and red. He reached around to undo the clasp, and relief flooded your waist from where the elastic bit at your skin. You released him, allowing the scratchy fabric to fall to the ground at the bedside, and Steve lowered himself back to the mattress.

You felt self-conscious, suddenly, as he drank you in, hands ghosting the bits of your flesh that were marred or torn, burn-scarred, pock-marked. You wondered if you’d aged since he last saw you like this, if you had more wrinkles, more pudge, if the weight of you sank different onto his slender hips. You wondered if your boobs sagged, if the flesh of your thighs doubled over your panty line.

Steve’s eyes didn’t give anything away as he raked your frame, hands molding to you like they were meant to, and after too long of a moment, he spoke. “Shit, babe. My memory doesn’t do you justice. You’re fucking perfect.”

A chill caught on your spine, a chuckle of embarrassment building at the compliment, and you folded yourself back to him, squirming under the scrutiny. “You think about me often, Harrington?”

His nose brushed yours in a nod, and he palmed the swell of your thighs beneath your shorts, grinding you down onto him. “Every single day.”

The honesty stuttered your breath, his fanning your lips, and you knew if you didn’t back away now, you’d be lost to him. As he leaned forward to close the gap, you turned your head, cursing yourself when soft lips met your cheekbone.

You avoided his gaze, moving instead to press a kiss to his jaw. Stubble scratched your lips, you chin. You nosed at his throat until he turned his head, and you wrapped your lips to his soft earlobe, delighting in the rumble of his chest against yours.

His hips snapped into you once more, hardened length pressed to the inseam of your thigh.

“Then we better give you something to remember,” you hissed into his ear.

Before you could act on your promise, Steve had you rolled over, pinning you to the bed with his hips. His lips were on you, hands kneading, frantic, eager. He pressed himself upright to strip his t-shirt, collar first, and when it hit the ground, you both heard the pad of footsteps on the floorboards outside.

You froze, suddenly remembering where you were, who occupied the room all around you. Your pulse thundered in your skull, anxiety licking at every inch of you, until you felt Steve Harrington’s perfect teeth graze your nipple and everything coursed through you like livewire.

“Can you be quiet for me?” He hissed to your skin, gathering your wrists to pin above your head, and you gave a fervent nod, swallowing the saliva flooding your mouth.

Steve was trouble, danger, desperate kneading hands and the rhythmic snap of hips. He was brute strength and roped muscles and demanding. He worshiped and praised God and you and mumbled praises into the crux of your throat, your sternum, building you to the highest high before crashing down on you like a wave.

Even after all this time, he knew how to work you, how to mold you, bend you, command you in hushed tones, hand over your mouth to keep your sinful sounds from spilling between his fingers. He delighted in the challenge, wanted you begging but silent, asking if you wanted more, asking if it was good with his chin to your shoulder, your face buried into his to muffle your moans.

He was strong, confident, delicious, salt-to-the-wounds and salt of the Earth, and you fell apart on his hands, his lips, the crash of his hips like waves across a rocky shoreline. Your eyelids sparkled, the ceiling spotted with starlight, and you came down with the weight of his head on your chest.

Steve placed a chaste kiss to your collarbone and looked up at you, a smug grin etched upon his features. He rolled himself to the side, breath ragged. You closed your eyes and listened to the deep in-and-out, trying to match your inhales with his, to slow your heart rate, to stop the pulsing of every muscle now aching in your body.

“How was that?” He whispered into your neck, turning to wrap his arm tightly around your waist.

You huffed a laugh, shrugged. “Top five, at least.”

He gnawed at your throat and squeezed you tighter into him, both of your bodies sticky with sweat.

Sleep tempted you, darkening your vision, weighing you further and further into the warm squish of the mattress and your pillow. Steve’s breathing calmed against your back, his nose tucked under the shell of your ear, and you wondered if you’d fallen asleep so easily in the last four years.

Steve muttered your name, and you hummed, drifting on the edge of bliss. “I do still think about you every day.”

And you wish he hadn’t said it, wish he hadn’t broken the spell, wish he hadn’t reminded you why you were here, what this was all about. The moonlight filtered in through treetops out the window beyond, and you tucked the blanket higher around your shoulders. Maybe there was no harm in late night truths whispered between lovers.

“The campsite wasn’t the best ever,” you confessed, voice weak. Steve loosened his cradle. You turned to face the ceiling, staring up at vaulted shadows. “Remember that first night in Louisville? I hadn’t seen you in so long, and we were tiptoeing around each other all night, but then the door’s closed in that elevator…”

Steve had propped himself up beside you, cupped your cheek. You felt the soft pad of his thumb against your lower lip. “I really want to kiss you.”

The only rule left to be broken, and your heart ached for it. You took a deep breath and avoided his gaze. You couldn’t do this to yourself again, couldn’t do it to him. It was selfish of both of you. You slipped from his grasp and out of the covers, digging through the dark for your t-shirt and sleep shorts. “The other’s will be awake soon.”

—

The sun cast the tops of your cheeks and nose in warmth, golden light filtering through your eyelids while you bathed in a lounger, allowing your Munson-special pancakes to settle. Your friends seemingly revived from breakfast, splashed a level below you, voices and laughter filtering up the wooden walkway. You battled the melancholy of your final full day with memories from the night before that had a smile aching at your lips.

You sighed and let your mind drift to the weight of Steve’s body against yours, the slam of his hips, the tight grasp of his hand to your wrists above your head.

“I’m heading up to take a shower,” his voice sliced through your daydream, graveled from a late night. “You guys need the bathroom before I go up?”

Nancy shook her head beside you, glancing up at him from above the sunglasses perched on the soft bridge of her nose.

Steve looked to you, and you squirmed under his gaze, shaking your own head with a smile. “Kay,” he smiled back. “Be back in a bit.” And you couldn’t resist in watching the slope of his thighs as he climbed the hill beside you to walk into the house.

“Holy fucking shit,” Nancy slammed her book down on her lounger.

You jumped and sat upright, glancing around you for something to cause her reaction, a giant bee, a severed arm.

“You slept with Steve.”

You halted your search and slowly met Nancy’s gaze. Her lips were pursed, and there was something twisted in the way she looked at you, like she was both pissed and proud she’d cracked the case.

You cowered under her gaze, picking at a sliver in the lounger, and fumbled through an excuse. “I don’t know what - ”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she snapped. “I saw him walking out of your room at 5AM when I got up to puke, and that little exchange you two just had confirmed it.” She waved her finger in the air to exemplify her point.

You felt your face heat. You didn’t appreciate the accusation in her tone. “Okay, so? We’re consenting adults.”

Nancy stuffed her arms under her armpits and turned to face you. “So are the two of you back together?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, the ragged rate of your breath speeding your pulse, or maybe it was the other way around. “No,” you huffed. “We’re just having fun while we’re here.”

Nancy rolled her eyes.

“Hey, no, don’t come at me with that. What about you and Jonathan, huh? Or should I say Robbie?” It was a low blow, and the moment it fell from your lips, you wish you could it all back.

Nancy sucked her lips between her perfect teeth and turned back in her sun lounger, hands flattening against her lower abdomen. “Yeah, well we learned our lesson, didn’t we?”

You blanched at the thought and shook your hair from your eyes. “Jesus, Nancy. I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

She didn’t respond for a long minute, looking out on the water, listening to the chirp of birds along the tree line. Then, she turned her head to face you, sun sparkling off the chrome tint of her sunglasses. “Do you remember that summer after Louisville? That night out on the Cape, just us girls?”

You barely remembered it, a drunken night out in a bar where everything smelled like the country club Steve’s parents frequented. You remembered sequins sticking to your face on a tiled floor. You remembered watching couples spin on a dance floor and wanting to splash your drink in the face of every single one of them. You remember feeling empty, broken, lost.

“I don’t think I realized how in love you two were before then.” She continued, turning back to sunbathe, as if this was the easiest breeziest of topics. “I mean, I knew you were close. You always spoke about him like family. And we all knew you were fucking, even though you tried to hide it.” She raised an eyebrow at you.

You swallowed.

“But that night’s when I realized how heartbroken you were.”

You closed your eyes, released a shaky breath, tried to maintain the happy memories that were quickly slipping from between your fingers, an anchor of your past traumas rocketing you to the bottom.

“I can’t begin to imagine how he felt.”

“Nancy,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Come on,” she argued. “He won the fucking jackpot with you. Plus, he’d been burned too many times by other self-hating idiots to let himself get close enough to you. That’s why he never asked you to be his girlfriend, why he never left Hawkins to be with you. He was terrified you’d bail, and then he realizes he can’t live without you and what do you go and do?”

That hit somewhere deep, a dull ache that spread like hot liquid through your chest. “I didn’t…”

“Of course you didn’t know,” she muttered, offering an innocuous wave to Jonathan who swung his arms in the air from the level beneath you, perched atop Argyle’s shoulders in the shallow water, Robin atop Eddie. “You guys haven’t talked in four years. And it wasn’t my job to tell you. My job, as the best friend, is to tell you you don’t need him. That you’re strong and beautiful and independent. My job is to cheer you on through your accomplishments and listen about your escapades with new and exciting men.”

God, you loved her, and you didn’t want to cry because she was right, you were strong and confident and independent, and you didn’t want to cry because Nancy wouldn’t cry, but you couldn’t help the emotion damming at your throat.

“He was supposed to tell you all of this, but clearly you two are incapable of communication.” She sat upright in her chair again and scoffed. “You know what? No. You’re going to talk to him, right now.”

You blinked, heart racing at the idea. “What? No.”

Nancy stood from her seat and grabbed you around the elbow, hoisting you upright. “Yes, right now. I’ll distract everyone else. This can’t go on any longer, or we’re all going to implode. You’re going into that house, and you’re going to hear his side of it. Because we all know you won’t be able to make a decision until you do.”

—

The floorboards creaked under your weight, a groan at each step to remind you of where you were going. Your bare feet, sun soaked, stuck to the finish. A breeze caught gossamer window dressing, but did nothing for the slick of sweat beading your upper lip, the creases of your palm, your lower back. The steam from Steve’s shower framed the bathroom mirror and permeated the upper floor with his scent, squeaky clean and expensive.

Your hands trembled against the surface of his bedroom door. You heard the shuffle of fabric on the other side, and a low, soft hum. You’d almost forgotten that about him, the way he sang when he thought no one was around. If he had an ear worm, or just felt happy about something.

You took a deep breath, pressed your forehead to the door, and knocked.

“Yeah, come in,” he called, and then “Hello?” after your lengthy hesitation.

You turned the brass knob and entered, clicking the door behind yourself. Steve stood across the room, nearest the window, tugging at his watch straps again. His white t-shirt was speckled grey across his shoulders where his hair had dripped into a freckled pattern. When he saw you, his honeyed eyes lit with recognition, something hungry in them.

“Hi,” you managed, and there must have been sheer terror in your eyes because Steve’s face flashed with alarm, and he made a slow cross your way.

“What’s wrong?” His tone reminded you of too many late night phone calls, his voice keeping the nightmares at bay.

You swallowed, allowed him to lead you to the edge of the bed, felt his fingers slot into yours, tried to ignore how soothed you felt already. “We need to talk about Louisville.”

He searched your eyes for a moment before he turned his attention to your hand in his, tracing your knuckles, brushing a thumb over your nails. “What about it?”

“I want to know what happened,” you sighed, allowing yourself to flop backwards onto a hand knit throw, the mattress swishing beneath you. “I want to know where it all went wrong, why I lost you. I guess I just need some insight, Steve. Because I’ve been wracking my brain for four years trying to figure it out.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he sighed, and you saw his teeth chew on his bottom lip. Then he brought his nail beds to his mouth, a bad habit from his youth.

You stopped his wrist, pulling his hand back into yours. “You were my best friend, and then you just quit calling.” You don’t think you’d let the hurt sink in until that moment, heard it catch in your vocal chords. You stared at the ceiling, a blur of white plaster and amber beams.

“I thought you didn’t want me to,” his voice was just as small as yours.

You shrugged, didn’t let the wobble in your jaw deter you. “We had fights before, bigger than this one. I figured we’d get over it.”

“You told me you didn’t want to marry me.”

You propped yourself on your elbows to face him. “Steve, come on. You weren’t serious. You didn’t want to marry me, not really. You were just at that stage in your life where you thought that’s what was supposed to happen.”

He rolled his eyes, shook his head, pulling his hand from yours to run through his damp hair. Flecks of water marked your skin. “Will you quit saying that? Quit invalidating my feelings like that. I didn’t just want to settle down out of convenience. That’s always bugged the shit out of me.” He snapped.

You barked a laugh, wry. “Okay, you had feelings for me. I get that. You know I love you too, but you can’t just spring a marriage proposal on a girl because she’s naked in your hotel bed. You didn’t even have a ring.”

Steve stared back at you for a long moment, and something in his eyes excited you. You hadn’t sparred in ages, hadn’t talked your genuine feelings out with your best friend in four years.

“Fuck it,” he said and stood from his seat beside you to cross to his opened suitcase, everything neatly folded and tucked inside. “If I show you this, you have to promise me you won’t say a word until I’m done talking. Alright?” He held something behind his back and pointed a finger your direction. “Not a God damn word.”

You rolled your eyes but held three fingers his direction and pretended to zip your lips. Then you caught a little black box he tossed at you. Your heart began to thunder in your chest, fingers trembling around velvet. You blinked at it a few times before looking back at him.

Steve was stone faced, if not a little pale, and his arms were crossed over his chest like he was waiting for you to say something. When you didn’t, he took a step forward, and then back, shifting weight on the balls of his feet. Then, he gestured to the box in your hand, a curse spilling from his lips. “I bought it the second day,” he said, “in Louisville.”

You couldn’t move, breath short, hands a vice grip on the box in your lap, terrified to look at it.

“We had that first night, the one you mentioned with dinner at that cantina, and we took that long walk past all those big houses, and I felt like I was holding my breath all day. And I can hold my breath for a long time, I’m a damn good swimmer. But sometimes with you, it feels like I’m drowning.”

You could remember every second of that night, had thought about it a thousand times, compared every date to it, hell every happy moment.

“And I think I just realized I couldn’t tread water with you anymore. Sink or swim, Harrington,” he groaned, scrubbing his hand down a freshly shaven face. “So the next day, while you were at your conference, I went to a jewelry store and bought that.”

Once again, your attention was drawn to the tiny box in your hands, and although your curiosity was piqued, you were still too terrified to open it.

“I chickened out pretty much the entire weekend. I think I just didn’t want to ruin the fun, and then on that last morning, I panicked. I freaked the fuck out because we were going home, and I didn’t want to be away from you anymore. So I said what I said, and we fought, and I kicked myself the whole way home.”

You were glad you’d promised not to speak, glad you’d zipped your lips, because you didn’t think you had words anyway. Too many thoughts and emotions and memories zooming through your headspace like speedboats, leaving casualties in their wake.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to Argyle’s wedding,” his voice was soft, and his arms found their spot across his chest once more. “I know I promised you I’d go, but I think dancing with you at someone else’s wedding felt like a twisted joke.”

You swallowed, nodded.

“Please don’t think I brought it here because I thought I could win you back, or whatever,” he hurried as an afterthought. “I honestly wasn’t sure what would happen this week. I was shitting myself that I’d somehow make everything worse, which maybe I have.”

You shook your head.

“I just keep it in my suitcase,” he gestured to the box again. “I don’t care what you do with it now. Hock it, pawn it, chuck it into the lake. You know, do what you want with it because it’s yours. It always has been.”

You watched as he crossed to you, taking a slow and awkward seat beside you, just beyond your reach.

“That it,” he sighed, shoulders slumped. “That’s my piece, I guess. You can talk now. Or not, if you don’t want. No pressure. At all, about any of this,” he glanced around the room. “If you want to go back to the way things were, I totally understand. I meant it when I said I just wanted a truce for this week. We agreed you reserve the right to live your own life.”

“No,” you croaked. You cleared your throat and shook your head. “I don’t want that. I mean, I want you in my life.”

The corners of his lips turned up at that, and he let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Me too.”

“This is all just…” You clasped the box until your knuckles whitened, just to stop the trembling. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Steve stood from next to you. “I’ll give you a few minutes, or you know, whatever you need. I uh… I actually think I need some air.” He thumbed to the door.

You stood on shaky legs, nodding. “Yeah, me too. Water, I think, might be good.”

“Totally,” he held the door open for you, and the two of you walked side-by-side to the top of the stairs. The floor groaned beneath your feet.

“Come find me later?” His voice was soft, warm, forehead creased with concern.

You smiled, nodded, and watched as his lanky frame retreat down the staircase and out the front door.

—

A batch of cookies baked in the oven, caramelized brown sugar and butter permeated the air. Three other cookie sheets sat prepped at the ready on the countertop nearby. You’d washed and dried your mixing bowls and measuring cups and hung the apron on its hook inside the pantry door. Your glass of lemonade lay untouched, glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

The small black box rolled in your pruned fingertips, and you glanced around the kitchen for any signs of onlookers before cracking open the seal, hinge groaning, for a peak at what rested within the pink satin lining.

You nearly dropped it, throwing your hand to your lips to contain the gasp that rattled when you saw the perfect diamond in its fitting on the perfect, most delicate little band. It was everything you would have wanted, subtle and sleek and sweet. You wondered if you had mentioned the details, mumbled into Steve’s chest after a night out, senses liquored and secrets spilled.

Or maybe he just knew you, better than anyone else could.

You glanced around the empty house once more before risking to pull it out of its casing and slide it over the summer-swollen knuckles of the ring finger on your left hand. It was the perfect fit, sparkling in honeyed sunlight, casting rainbows against the cabinets and countertops.

“Smells amazing in here, dudette,” Argyle entered the small kitchen.

“Thanks,” you choked a laugh, shoving your hands behind your back to greet him. “How’s dinner coming?”

“Good, good,” he bobbed his head, long hair swishing against a broad chest. He sidled up to the counter opposite you. “Came here to check on you though. It’s our last day. It’s not the same without you.”

“I know,” you smiled, waving at the cookies with your right hand. “Let me finish these up, and I’ll be right out.”

“Sure,” he saw right through you, a grin forming beneath his mustache, a glint in his eye. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I’m here for you.”

The honesty there cut deep. You nodded, wondered how much he knew, felt guilty for not telling him more, or for taking too much vacation time with your petty drama.

“Can I tell you a story about me and Eden?” His eyes lit up when he spoke of her, a big grin formed across soft features.

You nodded again, toyed with the ring around your finger behind your back. “Please.”

He scratched an itch at his mustache, and you saw him twist his own ring around his finger, gold, outdated, oversized. “Remember that day in the military tent? When we were all waiting for orders, and Steve pulled you in so we could explain what the Hell was going on?”

You swallowed. You’d never forget that day, though you were grateful you thought about it less and less as time went on.

“Sorry to bring it up,” Argyle nodded, held a hand up in apology. “I only do because I remember it more vividly than any of those days. I mean, I was high for a lot of everything before, and everything after felt like one big firefight. But I remember that day specifically because you lost your mom and Steve brought you into that tent, and he just held you.”

The emotion that had been rising all day started to spill, a causeway that rolled warm down your cheeks, and you were frantic to stop the flow, trying to push back those awful memories, the flashes of orange and camo, Steve’s strong arms wrapped around your collapsing body, knees gave way. You nodded to encourage Argyle to keep going, to reassure you were okay.

He reached a hand out anyway, pulled you into the cushion of his shoulder, rubbed at your arm. “We were all so young and so dumb, and I just wanted to go home.”

You sniffled and hugged around his middle because you understood.

“Not home to Lenora, but home to this girl I met a week earlier with brown hair and brown eyes because the moment I saw her, I knew I’d do anything for her. I wanted her to hold me the way Steve held you.”

Home, this place you’d always had in Steve Harrington, a place you always would.

“That’s the day I realized she was my one-and-only.” He always waxed so poetic about his wife, and until this moment you’d always rolled your eyes with fondness for the man. Until this moment, you never really understood. “Are you picking up what I’m laying down?”

You nodded, laughed wetly. “I think so.”

The wrap of knuckles against the doorframe grabbed your attention, and you looked up to find Eddie. His hair was frizzy from air dry, and he looked impossibly lanky in a black tank top and red shorts, and the handsome smile from his face fell when he saw the tears in your eyes. “Everything okay in here?”

Your heart sank.

“All good, my dude, just talking to her about my beautiful wife,” Argyle gave you one more tight squeeze before releasing you to stand at his full height. He gave you a wink before pushing past Eddie to head back outside to be with the rest of your friends.

The two of you stood in silence for a few minutes, the breeze trailing in to float his air from his eyes. You weren’t sure how to start, what you could say to make it right, but you didn’t have to.

Eddie let out a whistle, long and low, and crossed the room to meet you. “I always knew Harrington had good taste.” Before you realized you were fidgeting with your ring, he took your hand into his, holding it up to catch the light like you had done earlier.

You swallowed, watching the subtle hurt etched between his brows. Eddie Munson, heart on his sleeve. You whispered his name.

He shrugged, dimples poking through his goatee, and shook his hair from his eyes. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it. I just want you both happy.” He ducked his head then, inches from yours. “Are you happy?”

You thought to all of the friends that had held you throughout this week, throughout the past twelve years, throughout your life, and you nodded, fighting back the new tears that threatened to spill.

Eddie caught them with the calloused pad of his thumb, a chuckle rumbling low in his chest. “I’m never going to stop loving you.”

“I know,” you laughed, closing your eyes as he pressed soft lips to your forehead.

“You know? Wow. A bit full of yourself, sweetheart,” he teased, and you swatted at him. He dodged your aim and grabbed you by the waist to pull you into a bone-crushing hug, jaw pressed to your temple.

“I love you too,” you whispered into his neck, cigarette and spice and sunscreen.

“Have you told him yet?”

You froze, shook your head.

The egg timer went off, shrill and loud, and in that exact moment, under the honeyed glow of the late afternoon summer sun, with the room smelling of your mom’s chocolate chip cookies, you felt like she was sending you a sign.

Your hands shook, and you mopped at the tears in your eyes and pointed at the oven. “Can you take those out?” You asked Eddie, breathless, heart thundering in your chest.

His lips split into that Cheshire grin, and he waved you off. “Go get him, sweetheart.”

The rubber of your soles squeaked against every wooden step on your way down. The patio was empty, sounds of splashes and crackled firewood and laughter could be heard from the shore, and when you rounded the little tin roof beach hut, you saw your friends, your family, roasting kababs and drinking beer and smiling. Nancy and Robin shared a log to sit on, while the boys stood around the grill with hands in their pockets, breeze ruffling their shirts. The smell of ash and smoke and meats rose to your nostrils, something that just felt like another sign.

Steve was the closest to you, his back turned, broad shoulders in navy blue, running his hand through his hair. You hit sand and called his name, and he turned to face you with a squinted gaze, hand up to see your approaching figure.

You closed the gap in four strides, dragging him down by the collar to press your lips to his, the final rule broken.

A sound of surprise turned low when the realization hit, and you felt his hands snake around your waist and hips, lifting you on the balls of your feet to kiss him deeper. Your hands found his hair, one of his cupped your cheek, and all at once you felt at home. Once lost at sea, now you’d found your mooring.

You breathed a laugh that mirrored his, the tip of his nose pressed to your cheek, and it wasn’t until the ringing in your ears stopped that you noticed the ruckus of friends around you.

“Is that a diamond ring!?” Robin screeched somewhere behind Steve.

You sucked back a smile and pulled your hand from Steve’s hair to admire the ring on your finger. Steve looked back at you glassy eyed, mouth open to speak without words. You shrugged, smiled, allowed the diamond to sparkle in the sunlight.

“Yeah, I guess it - ” You were cut-off when Steve planted another kiss on you, lifting you into his arms.

—

The windows had been closed for the night, pale yellow curtains no longer flowing in the breeze. Your hair smelled of campfire, and your eyelids grew heavy from an eventful day. You were full of kabobs and Mom’s chocolate chip cookies, and you squished onto the tiny couch between Steve and Robin, who were flicking each other inches above your head.

“You’re both children,” you snorted, swatting their hands away as they began to flick you instead.

“Wheeler, are you crying?” Eddie’s voice turned all of your attention quickly to Nancy, who sat between Jonathan’s legs, mopping at the tops of her freckled cheeks.

“No, fuck off, Munson,” she scoffed.

You scrambled to sit upright, leaning across the coffee table to take her hand in your own. Jonathan gripped you both. “What’s up?” You bit back a smile, seeing Nancy’s eyes roll in annoyance at being the center of attention for something she’d rather keep private.

“I just never thought we’d be here.” She sighed.

“Yeah, Kurtis was really generous leaving his house with a bunch of assholes like us,” Robin agreed.

“Shut up,” Nancy groaned when you all laughed. “I just meant… after all this time, I’m really glad I still have you guys.”

“Can’t get rid of us that easy, Nance,” Steve grinned, swinging an arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him with a sigh.

“It’s true, dude. We’re like parasites,” Argyle piped in, mouth full of cookie.

You tried not to let her words seep in, tried desperately to tread water, to fight back the current of emotions that prickled when you realized you didn’t know the next time you’d all be together like this. Robin was off to France. Nancy and Jonathan had their own adventures, baby in tow. Argyle lived across the country.

You met Eddie’s gaze, warm browns and Cheshire smile. “Besides, we’ll all be together again soon. I heard there’s going to be a wedding in Hawkins.”

You cocked a brow, ready to retort, but Steve beat you to the punch.

“Hard to plan a wedding in a place we don’t live.”

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A/N: This fic was definitely a labor of love for me. I actually had this planned before I wrote My Whole Life, Too. And I have so many other details of their lives and pasts that I'd love to dive back into. Thank you so so so much for reading xo xo

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#better off fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson angst #steve harrington angst #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #robin buckley #jancy #argyle #eden bingham

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