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the-au-thor · 2 months

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A la Velocidad de la Luz (at the Speed of light) | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Hello! I just wrote something for my Steve Harrington people out there. I hope you like it

TW: read this!

word count: 9.1k

Synopsis: They're friends, they're not idiots, and yes, they're falling in love. Let's dive a little bit into the friendship between this two and get to know Steve's love language

It's not like I got inspiration in this song by Los Bunkers and you should totally listen to it

Part 2

Steve had totally recognized the symptoms the minute he saw you that Friday Movie night.

After the gnarly events you've all been through, it was obvious you have formed a bond, a bond that would bring together the fancy house on the fancy side of town with the humble trailer in the trailer park on the wrong side of the tracks. A bond that would unite ages, circumstances, and tastes without discrimination, gathering a group of people religiously every Friday to eat popcorn and watch some horror movie. Then you'd all crash for the night because for some reason, nobody wanted to split up or be apart from each other. You needed each other to keep on living, and it wasn't something you would readily admit to in unison. It was more like a tacit agreement, and everyone was perfectly okay with it. The ongoing practice of cohabitation had made Steve more perceptive, somehow discovering that he enjoyed taking care of others, and griping about it was just part of a ritual where Dustin would have to go somewhere while pretending that Steve and only Steve could take him, and then, after grumbling, repeating that he wasn't his babysitter and whining, he'd grab his keys and take him wherever the kid desperately wanted to be. He could predict stomachaches when the kids stuffed themselves with sweets and be there with antispasmodic drops and chicken soup. He could also intervene in a bar fight at The Hideout just in time to prevent them from ruining the night when Corroded Coffin was playing and to keep them from calling Hopper for no reason. He had been there for Robin, Nancy, Argyle, and even Jonathan and each of the kids. Maybe that's why Hopper had suggested the Police Academy. Maybe that's why he felt like all of you were largely the reason he wasn't that lost kid with a terrible social life anymore and didn't know what to do with his life. You glanced at him with a half-smile right in the middle of the break to hit the bathroom that Nancy had instituted after Dustin suffered a urinary tract infection because he preferred to hold it in rather than miss out on Freddie's massacres.

"What's up?" you asked, popping a handful of popcorn into your mouth as you looked at him straight on.

Steve didn't know you much before the catastrophic events in Hawkins brought you together. You were buds with Robin at school, worked alongside Nancy on the school paper, but you said you never had the same reporter spirit as Nance; you just liked to write, and you thought being a member of the school paper would look dope on your resume once you applied to college. There was a time when you and he bumped into each other at some parties because Vicki's twin brother, Justin Carmichael, was trying to convince you to go out with him. He remembered that afterward, Justin had been complaining for a week because you hadn't even had the decency to let him get to first base at the best party in school. Inside, Steven was relieved it turned out that way; Justin Carmichael was a big asshole. Just as much of an asshole as he used to be back then. After you graduated, you both ran into each other when he was at Scoops Ahoy and you visited Robin at the ice cream shop, that time Hawkins was in danger -AGAIN-, and they barely even counted it -AGAIN-. You were going to Indiana University during the week, and you'd come back on weekends because unlike Steve, your parents were loving people who loved having you around and were genuinely interested in what you liked, explaining your concerned and always open personality. Steve didn't find it odd, anyway, not to have noticed you before you just abruptly entered his life as you did. The Steve from the past wouldn't have noticed someone like you because he was a selfish jerk; he'd proven it with Nancy, and he had to suffer a lot before he could prove to himself that he was much more than what his parents and old friends expected of him.

"Are you okay?" he asked then, listening to Lucas and Max's whispering kisses on one of the back couches.

Robin was making more popcorn in the microwave while Nancy filled her in on her long-distance relationship with Jonathan back when he was still living in California and how Robin could make it work as well with Vickie. Steve always knew they could handle the distance; it was just something Nancy and Jonathan would be able to make work. Dustin had gone to the bathroom, obviously, while Will mocked the silly argument Mike and Eleven were having, which was occasionally interrupted by Eddie to make a comment that would serve as an argumentative catapult to fuel the little dispute.

Your eyes stopped at Steve's in silence, and finally, you nodded.

"Sure," you replied. "Finally, vacation; I missed not having to pack my bags every weekend," you murmured with a smile, "and I'll be able to take a break from Professor Lewis's lectures."

Steve grimaced. "Is he still making it tough on you?"

You nodded. "Until the very last second of class, I really don't know how I'm going to survive this year if he keeps up with his hate campaign, I don't know what I did to him."

Steve frowned.

"There are people like that, you know? Bitter. Maybe he's jealous because you're so talented," Steve saw you scrunch your nose and let out a snort of laughter.

"He's a writer for The Times, jealous?" Steve shrugged.

"Maybe he sees in you something he can never be," he explained easily, "it's not uncommon for adults to project onto younger ones and make them pay for it."

Again, you studied him in silence. You took another popcorn into your mouth just before speaking. "And how's your dad taking you being the first one in the academy?" you asked.

Steve let out a small snort.

"Oh, he's thrilled. Especially because Hopper seemed to be his nemesis in school when they both belonged to the same basketball team," Steve drank from his Coca-Cola can, taking two big swigs big enough to make his mouth no longer feel dry.

You smirked ironically. "Ah, well, speaking of adults projecting…"

Steve nodded, watching you rummage in your purse for your pills. He remembers the first time he saw you show them to everyone, explaining what they were; it was right after closing the portal once and for all. The government had put them up in fancy hotel rooms while you all took care of cleaning up Hawkins and the reputation Eddie had gained because of the serial killer they hadn't managed to subdue in the first place. You were safe; everything was finally okay. There wouldn't be any more interdimensional creatures flying, running, crawling, or floating around there thinking they could eat, scratch, possess, or kill whoever they encountered, but even when you knew it, you couldn't sleep.You have been there, ordering the most expensive food from the hotel and playing video games nonstop for twenty-four hours. For you, it really hit the limit when you saw Eddie spend three straight hours curled up in the fetal position on his bed without really sleeping. Steve saw you get up, turn off the kids' TV, and take the pasta tray away from Argyle. The kids didn't even have the energy to protest. You stood in the middle of the room in your hotel robe with weariness in your eyes.

"So,” you finally said, taking a bottle of medicine out of your purse. "I'm going to do something I shouldn't do, and you must promise not to tell your parents. And yes," you looked at Erica threateningly, "I'm specifically talking to you," you said and then began handing out a small white capsule to each of the kids except Erica, to whom you gave a bigger one, explaining that you wouldn't give her anything other than melatonin.

Dustin sniffed the pill and then looked at you curiously.

"And what's this?"

You glanced at Robin out of the corner of your eye and then at the rest.

"My sleeping pills. They're gentle, but I need them to sleep, which you haven't done for a long time, and you can't just keep ignoring that you can't fall asleep. So this is the deal; we're going to ignore the fact that I'm breaking the law with this, and everyone will take a dose, it's small. I won't tell you what it is, but definitely don't be alarmed if you taste a bitter flavor in your mouth," you explained gently. "And you must commit; everyone will go to the therapist as soon as we leave here because what happened isn't normal, and you need help."

Eddie accepted the deal without thinking, sat on the bed, and swallowed the capsule without a second thought. After that, he opened his bedclothes and wished everyone good night. You watched the kids take the pills after promising to go to therapy. Steve remembers helping you and Robin turn off the lights and dim the night lamps as you watched everyone settle into whatever corner of the room they could claim and cover themselves with blankets to try to sleep.

"I didn't know you needed those sleeping pills," Steve piped up in the dark when the snores kicked in. Robin was out cold smack dab in the middle of us, snoring up a storm, her face finally looking peaceful and carefree.

Steve had seen the danger lurking in your eyes before, the fear, the terror, the concern, but that night was the first time he caught a glimpse of this new emotion; it was like an internal retreat to pain being reflected in your irises. For a moment, you diverted your gaze, avoiding Steve's, before nodding.

"I started having panic attacks at fifteen. Got diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," you confessed. "Had too many sleepless nights, screwed up my school game, messed with my emotions and reactions," you whispered matter-of-factly, but Steve could sense there was a lot of pain behind those words. "It was rough at first, but trust me, with supportive peeps and solid therapy, it's worth it. And these pills? They're tame compared to what I had to down initially. Missed two weeks of school and just slept” you nodded, letting out a stifled yawn, and Steve couldn't resist but follow suit as fatigue weighed heavily on his eyelids.

"Thanks for letting me in on that. You're tough, you know?" he responded, his words already starting to slur with sleepiness.

Your arm slinked over Robin, and your hand found its way to Steve's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Night, Steve," you murmured softly before drifting off into slumber.

You only needed one pill back then.

"Two?" Steve asked, furrowing his brow as he watched you down both capsules quickly, chasing them with a gulp of water as he nodded.

"Yeah, been having some trouble with the meds," you explained with a shrug. "Now that I'm free,I'm gonna see the doc and see how it goes."

Steve's expression clouded with worry. "Want some company?"

You took another sip of water, already formulating a quick response in your mind. "And have you wait around for an hour while my psychiatrist has me spillin' my guts in his office? Thanks, but I won't do that to ya."

"It wouldn't be a bother," Steve settled back on the couch, eyeing you. "But the offer's there."

You smiled, genuine gratitude shining through. "Thanks."

You and Steve watched Eddie make his way towards the TV as Dustin settled in next to Steve. Will nestled back on the floor, leaning against your legs as he always did. Steve had noticed, subtly since you and he met, that you two had formed a bond. Sometimes he caught glimpses of you two in your car, sharing ice cream and jamming out to tunes. When no one was looking, or so you thought, Will would lean towards you, and you'd start braiding his hair with a smile. Steve wondered if Will might have a bit of a crush on you, and you just didn't realize what was brewing there. Maybe he should chat with you about it; he wasn't sure if letting the kid catch feelings was good for him. The lights dimmed once more, the movie rolling on, and Eddie plopped down between you and Steve. Eddie shot his friend a sly look, knowing Steve was perfectly comfy where he was before. Steve rolled his eyes at Eddie and decided it was best to focus on the movie, but even in the tensest moments, he couldn't help but cast concerned glances at you; you'd taken your sleeping pills, yet you didn't seem to be yawning or preparing to nod off on Eddie's shoulder or curl up in the corner of the couch.

The next morning, you were the first one up, showered and clad in your athletic shorts, oversized Clash T-shirt as you whipped up breakfast for the sleepyheads still sprawled and tangled on the couch and rug, snoring away. Nancy was the second to join you, followed by Robin and Argyle. Steve then roused himself, greeting the ones awake, and headed to his room to grab a quick shower before joining them. While Nancy whipped up waffles, you manned the eggs, so Steve filled the coffee maker with his old man's favorite brew, which he never touched because he was hardly ever home.

"Wouldn't it be better if they woke up?" Nancy queried. "I mean, they were the ones hellbent on going to the lake for a swim."

Argyle snagged a piece of crispy bacon and started munching on it. "Sis, it's vacay, you can't go all dictator on 'em. When they're ready, they'll wake up."

Nancy snorted but didn't argue with his logic; instead, she piled the waffles onto a plate and leaned against Steve's kitchen island, eyeing you.

"You doin' alright?" she inquired.

You had been quiet, focused on the eggs as you stared into the pan with a distant gaze. You nodded, flipping the eggs before cutting the heat. You turned to Nancy with a smile.

"I'm good," you replied. "You been dealing with school drama?" you asked, catching Nancy's eye roll.

"I swear, if I get stuck with one more group of knuckleheads for a project, I'm gonna lose it," Nancy grumbled under her breath, eliciting a chuckle from Eddie, lounging between the cushions.

"Come on, Wheeler," he laughed. "We've worked together, and it's been smooth sailing, what could be worse?"

Robin sauntered over, tossing her threadbare cardigan—ridden with holes courtesy of Eddie's antics, claiming it looked "metal." It landed over Eddie's face and Robin shot him a look with arched eyebrows.

"You got no modesty, Munson?"

Steve chuckled as he poured coffee into a couple of mugs.

"Yeah, man, what's with the strip show in the dead of night?"

Eddie struggled to dress until he finally managed to awkwardly clamber up from the couch.

"Well, next time, you get to share a couch on a sweltering summer night with Henderson, what’ya think, pretty boy?" he griped before shooting Dustin a glare, who was still sound asleep with his mouth agape. Eddie tossed a blanket at him with force. "Wake up!"

Dustin startled awake, only easing when he saw everyone was fine and the worst thing that happened was a slobber stain on one of the sofa cushions in Steve's parents’ living room. He shuffled over to the couch, snagging the marked cushion and grimacing at it. Steve’s brows furrowed, mouth twisted in a disgusted grimace.

"Dude, this couch is worth a fortune. My mom's gonna flip when she sees this," he protested, lobbing the pillow back at Dustin, who was unapologetic about the incident, even wearing a smug smile, if anything.

Steve's house was a flurry of activity for the next few minutes; utensils clinked against dishes, and Steve’s parent will definitely notice those scratches Eddie left behind from trying to cut the bacon on his plate. You washed up everything each one of you used because, according to Nancy, it was better to leave everything clean, or else no one would have the energy to do it later. Robin, Steve, and you followed her orders because they weren't about to argue with someone like Nancy Wheeler. Argyle, Eddie, and Jonathan dried everything off and stowed it away while the kids geared up for an afternoon at the lake. When you arrived, you settled into lounge chairs and giant towels while most of the kids bolted for the water. Steve watched as you made the rounds, armed with a bottle of sunscreen, making sure everyone got slathered up on their backs, arms, faces, and shoulders, even though Mike protested about his fair, skinny skin. The rest splashed around for a while, indulged in ice creams, and even had a few impromptu swimming races where Steve had to fake a cramp so Dustin could finally win. Steve didn't realize, but you noticed, and you observed the little event with an amused grin. Steve wasn't the type to talk about feelings in front of a crowd out of the blue; that was more Eddie's style. He wouldn't stand in the middle of a bonfire and pour his heart out, declaring his undying love for everyone, but he had to admit moments like these made him feel damn happy. He'd always been a lone wolf trying desperately not to fit in but he never realized it was an issue until he met all of you, and it was something he could dig while the sun was still shining big and warm near the horizon. The kids were splashing around in the water with Robin, Eddie, and Argyle. Jonathan and Nancy were chilling a bit further away, exchanging kisses and small talk. You gave Will a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then playfully messed up his hair, making him laugh and shove you back. After that, you splashed water in his face before swimming off towards the lake shore. When your feet hit the stones, you strolled over to the stretched-out towel next to Steve with a smile and threw yourself onto it to soak up the sun. Steve looked as you adjusted your hair to the side, watching the little drops dance across your skin before disappearing or evaporating. Quietly, you quickly cracked open one of the books you always have with you, diving into its pages. He saw your fingers flick across the pages and your tongue peek out between your lips in concentration. He half-smiled and settled onto his towel, soaking in the warmth of the sun with a relaxed sigh.

"Can you imagine a dude with a freaky sense of smell going all psycho and killing a bunch of virgin girls to get their essence?" you broke the silence without taking your eyes off your book.

Steve arched a brow, somewhat amused. "Nah, I mean, we've seen worse stuff to not picture a human killing others," he replied sarcastically, earning a small, amused chuckle from you.

"Fair point," you replied, licking your finger to turn the page.

Steve cleared his throat, shifting on his towel, and turned to you, feeling a bit uneasy. "Hey, I think you should watch out for Will."

That made you glance up from your book, peering at him over your shades. Steve could sense the intensity of your gaze even though he couldn't see your eyes directly.

"Why? Has he been sniffing around and plotting murders?" Steve furrowed his brow.

"What? No! What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.

You left the book resting on your stomach to give him your full attention.

"Oh, it's just that we were chatting about the book, and then you brought up Will… but never mind, explaining a joke is lame, right?" you laughed, then sighed, suddenly feeling awkward. "What's up with Will?"

Steve scratched the back of his neck, trying to respond tactfully. Internally, he regretted starting that conversation without thinking it through first.

"I dunno. I just think maybe he's catching feelings for you… and it's not your fault, you're just nice to him," he cut himself off, trying to clarify his point, "…it's just that he might be getting the wrong idea…"

You lowered your shades a tad to meet his gaze directly.

"So, you're saying Will Byers might have a little crush on me?" you asked with a measured tone, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Steve squirmed, shoulders shifting as he scratched his nose, eyes darting away from yours.

"It's possible," was his only response. "I mean, it's not the first kid who has a crush on an older girl, y'know?" Older girl. You gave him a calm smile, picking your book back up to resume reading.

"Will doesn't have a crush, Steve. At least, not on me; trust me, I'd know," you reassured him gently, giving Steve one last look. "Seriously."

Steve didn't know, but you understood his concern all too well. There was a reason why you and Will were so close, and why your bond had grown stronger lately, and it had as much to do with Will's feelings as it didn't. It wasn't something you could explain too much; it was something that belonged to Will, not to you. You'd noticed a change in Will for a few months now, even before they moved to California, but you weren't close friends; you'd only tutored the kid a couple of times, and that wasn't enough to butt into his life. When the Byers returned to town, Will was even quieter, more withdrawn, even when he was with the whole crew. You couldn't help but worry, especially on the day Joyce came to you, asking for an hour of your weekends to help Will with his English essays; he was starting to get more and more distracted, Joyce's super-mom side wanted to step in, but her more rational side said to give him time to readjust. That talk had you worried all week until Saturday came and you saw for yourself the kind of distraction in Will's gaze. He wasn't just somewhere else, far from the room where you both tried to finish the essay the teacher had assigned to help him get his English back on track; no, he was deep inside himself, locked in some cell with the door wide open, but he was too comfortable and scared of the world outside to step out. You remember spotting an old school project he made in California, hidden away and dusty under a pile of canvases with sketches of massive dragons and knights in armor. The project was about Alan Turing; the dedication in that work caught your eye, and you dusted it off to showcase its potential. When you slid it in front of him, you told him that's the Will you wanted to see at school; you saw his eyes well up with tears, and you knew something else was weighing on him. Then you set aside the task, sat beside him, and took his hands. You promised to keep anything he told you discreet, then he started speaking. You'd never heard Will talk so much, and you were shocked as you listened to every word, how well he'd hidden his turmoil, and the loneliness creeping in. He was just a kid and he was facing his first heartbreak, and worse; you couldn't promise it'd be his last, he had it rough, and his road ahead would be bumpy. Since that day, you'd made sure to be there for whatever he needed, even planning a trip to the MET together to get him hyped about art. You were the baby sister in your family, you had three older brothers and you never knew what it was like to look out for someone else until you met the boys, and it brought you joy to make sure everyone was alright, especially making sure Will had a good summer with his friends and that his heart would heal, with hopes that a good boy would come along someday to help him pick up the pieces and mend all the crap he might face.

It was pretty late when they decided to head home. They dropped the kids off at the Wheelers', where they'd be crashing for a sleepover. Eddie invited you all to catch one of his Corroded Coffin rehearsals at the Hideout, and you were about to accept along with Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle, and Robin, but Steve put his hand on your shoulder with a grin and said you had plans. For a sec, you looked at him confused, but a gentle squeeze on your side from him convinced you to play along. They bid the kids farewell outside the joint, and you climbed into Steve's car, curious. You saw him wait for both of you to buckle up before asking what he had planned.

"I thought we could do something, just you and me."

A date? You wondered innocently, Steve Harrington and you hanging out without the rest? You could only think of one time you'd decided to do something together. Once, you brought cookies to the Academy; he'd aced all his workouts, but his parents didn't even bother to pat him on the back. You and the rest planned a party for him to celebrate, but you wanted to do something special because you were hella proud. You baked his fave cookies (crunchy with cinnamon, caramel, and peanuts) and met him at lunchtime; apparently, they were just showering because his hair was still a bit wet at the ends. He was rocking shorts and a tank top, sweat glistening on his skin, cheeks flushed from exertion. He had a lil' towel draped 'round his neck as he dabbed his forehead. You were waiting for him in the lobby, standing up with a grin plastered on your face. You remember your cheeks hurting like hell, the slight ache nagging at you that night when intrusive thoughts came knocking uninvited, making you wonder if you looked like a loon.

"What's this?" Steve asked with a half-smile and a curious look as you held out a box.

"Congrats for passing your test," you replied, watching as Steve's expression shifted, a mix of sadness and gratitude, then he hugged you out of nowhere. You and him hugged before, especially after some close call that put their lives at risk, but this hug was different, more intimate. He rested his chin on your shoulder, rubbing your back tenderly. You heard him sigh softly, murmuring his thanks. After you and Steve pulled apart, you still on your toes and he with his hands on your shoulders, your eyes locked for a moment, and you felt like something was left unsaid, but it happened so fast you didn't have time to question it. You never talked about it again. You hadn't swung by the academy again, even though you had more than one reason to. For some reason, you felt like you needed to guard yourself, so you'd avoided being alone with Steve or making excuses to see him without the kids around. When you arrived at his house , you felt something strange stirring inside you. Maybe Steve caught your furrowed brow or your hesitation to step out of his ride and cautiously scoped out the entrance, because he walked over to your door and popped it open with a smile that somehow put you at ease.

"I gotta show you something inside," he announced, extending his hand toward you, offering it up for your trust.

You half-smiled, unsure how to react. You didn't know whether to feel pure curiosity or straight-up unease. You took his hand and follow him to the entrance. He didn't let go; he held onto your hand and occasionally traced circles on your palm, as if he knew exactly how to calm your jitters.

Inside the house, it looked just as you left it, except for some cushions outta place on Steve's parents fancy sofa. Steve kept his steps leading you upstairs. As you ascended, you checked out the family pics Steve's mom had hung on the wall. One was snapped in a studio with a basic blue backdrop adorned with clouds, featuring a smiling baby decked out in sailor threads. You smiled then; that baby was Steve. "Did you want siblings?"

As you hiked up the stairs in silence, Steve shot you a curious glance, and then nodded.

"Yeah, actually, but my folks shut down production very soon. My dad blames it on my mom, but we all know it's on him," he responded.

You made a face, recalling the one time you'd seen Steve's dad. He seemed distant, preferring it that way; he introduced himself as "Mr. Harrington," and you were pretty sure he'd adopted it as his first name. He seemed like the type to pin his own infertility on his wife.

"I always wanted little siblings" you murmured, lightly tracing your index finger over the wood. "Feels like I got them now."

"Yeah, some real pests," Steve grumbled, coming to a halt in front of a closed door, eyeing you.

You nervously smiled. I mean, with him looking at you like that, what were you supposed to do? You shrugged. "It ain't all bad," you murmured, eyes darting impatiently between the door and Steve's relaxed demeanor. You didn't see him like this often; he had that look that seemed to peer into your soul with those huge brown eyes. He slipped into the room, being all suspicious, and after a minute, he emerged, shutting the door behind him.

"I got somethin' for ya on the other side of this door," he said without giving you a chance to process how odd that might be because he knocked on the wooden surface and pushed it open, revealing the guest room of his enormous house. Inside, blackout curtains shielded the huge windows that overlooked the Harringtons' backyard.

You were struck by the scented candles and the distant sound of the sea emanating from some speakers by a massive, fluffy bed piled with cushions and pristine, crisply-stretched sheets. You looked at Steve with a mixture of confusion and fun.

"Could you at least invite me for a coffee first, Steve…?" you quipped, trying to dispel the slight unease creeping up your spine.

Steve half-smiled, giving a weak chuckle. "If I were goin' that route, I'd spring for somethin' a bit fancier than a brew; give me some credit," he played along, entering the room and picking up a neatly folded outfit from his hands. "No, babe; this is an intervention plan."

With your feet still lingering in the doorway, you arched an eyebrow, perplexed.

"Intervention for what?"

"Glad you asked," Steve said, handing you the folded clothes; the soft fabric of the pajama set brushed against your fingers as you wondered what all this was about. "I'll get the tub runnin'. My mon left this stash of bath salts that supposedly turn you into a new human; so, enjoy the bath, Slip into these PJs, then come down for dinner and after that, off to bed, and I don't wanna hear from you until at least tomorrow at noon ."

You frowned. "Steve; What…?" You shook your head quickly, trying to dispel the confusion as if by magic. "I don't get it."

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders, meeting your gaze squarely. "You haven't been getting proper sleep for months; you ain't fooling me. You said it's just sleep trouble, but I know it's deeper; you've been mega stressed, and when that happens, insomnia kicks in, panic attacks, negative vibes, and the urge to be completely alone. I've seen it; so let's try sidestepping that, and for that, I've whipped up a sleep bomb. I just need your cooperation, can I count on that?"

You studied him, trying to read him in return. You were surprised Steve had clocked your distress signals. You hadn't wanted to tip off anyone, not even your parents who'd been through it all before. You didn't want to put them through it; you didn't want to tell them that during your college days, when you weren't studying or dodging Mr. Lewis' attempts to fail you out of spite, all you could think about was returning to Hawkins; to be with them, your friends, your fam. You didn't want to confess that you'd revisited that dark place where you wondered, during those long, sleepless nights, how it would feel to just snooze forever and wake up when everything hurt less. Every so often, your mind dragged you there; you knew they were bouts triggered by high stress, and you knew they'd pass, but not knowing when or how long it'd last was another torture on your plate. You hadn't needed to voice your cries for help for Steve to come through was both surprising and scary. Surprising because you didn't think he'd notice; he was busy running the mansion his parents barely occupied, looking after the kids, and navigating the rigors of the academy while trying to fend off the hordes of newfound fans who were back to fawning over him. Would there even be room for you in his schedule? You knew you were friends, but honestly, you'd hung out more often with Nancy, Robin, and Eddie—shopping, hitting the movies, catching gigs—than with Steve on a single aimless stroll downtown. Among your friends, Steve was honestly the last person you'd figured would clock your silent pleas for help. And yet here he was, front and center; at some point, he'd carved out time to spruce up a whole room, light candles, have a bed that screamed comfort, and a silky PJ set just for you. It felt like your lungs swallowed all the air in the room, and oxygen only reached you for a fragile, feeble thank you that stumbled out haltingly. Steve seemed to appreciate that sliver of gratitude, and something in his eyes softened for a beat. He gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze before leaving you to run the taps, filling the tub with glorious hot water that soon had you melting into bliss and your muscles thanking the heat. You tilted your head back as your toes curled in delight. You were pretty sure the salts hadn't done much beyond a certain softness on your skin, but the pleasant aroma had managed to unwind you. When you decided it was time to get out, mainly because the water had cooled and your fingers were pruney, you dried off and slipped into the comfy satin Pijama, a lovely mahogany color that smelled of detergent and fabric softener.

It was pure bliss; that's what you thought as you descended the stairs and found the table set with iced tea, a salad, and two plates brimming with bolognese pasta.

Steve didn't know how to cook much else; his waffle game was weak, and his scrambled eggs were always overdone. But if there was one thing Steve Harrington could nail, it was a homemade pasta dish. You couldn't figure out why he'd never flexed that culinary muscle with his dates; you were sure by now Steve Harrington was off the market for a good long while. Part of you, a part you tried not to dwell on too much, wished that sliver of Steve that only you and the rest of the group knew would remain under wraps. Then you felt guilty for even wishing that; you knew Steve felt lonely and wanted to find someone, and as you twirled pasta onto your fork, you knew he deserved it, because the pasta was divine, and because he'd taken the time to make it himself.

You would've kept munching, but you knew it'd be greedy. Steve rose and led you to bed, rattling off a laundry list of reasons why you wouldn't be lifting a finger, starting with the fact that you were caught up in a smartly orchestrated intervention by him.

"What's up?" Steve asked as you settled under the covers of the bed and the reality hit you.

"Every night I give this a shot, Steve; trying to calm, close my eyes, and just sleep, and I really wanna now but I just can't…"

Steve rubbed his nose, nodding, plopping down beside you, all ears.

"Look at yourself," he murmured. "You're stressing about not being able to sleep, and that's why it ain't happening." You shook your head. "It's not that, really, Steve. It's just that I know myself; I know, and it's frustrating. You have no idea how many nights I've spent staring at the ceiling, feeling like my body just needs to move. It's practically physically impossible for me to lie in bed, no matter how comfy it is."

"Alright," Steve nodded thoughtfully. "I have an idea. Remember when we were keeping watch to make sure Vecna didn't snatch Max at the Wheeler's house?" You nodded. "Yeah, Dustin never shut up, and God knows I couldn't shut him up myself, so I just resigned myself to having to listen to his annoying voice for the rest of the night, and then boom! I woke up, and it was morning."

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. "You fell asleep on your watch to keep an eye on Max?"

"Hey, Henderson was still awake, and nothing went down, right?"

You opened your mouth, astonished. "Something could've gone down, Steve."

"But it didn't!" he retorted, letting out a sheepish laugh and trying to defend himself. "But that's not the point. The point is, I fell asleep," you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms while still sitting on the bed. Steve must've recognized that you looked adorable trying to scold him for his irresponsibility. "Listening to Dustin's voice, I slept like a baby all night."

You raised an eyebrow, finally getting it.

"Are you telling me that all this time, I've just needed Dustin's voice to sleep soundly?"

"No," he replied, pointing his finger at you with a victorious grin. "My voice, babe, my voice will make you sleep like a rock tonight." He then got up and gestured for you to lie down in bed. You looked at him, suppressing a laugh. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Look, now you find it funny, but when you wake up in the morning feeling rested, I'll have the decency not to tell you it was thanks to me."

You smiled, adjusting your hair to the sides.

"Oh, Steve, thank you so much, how considerate of you," you laughed, but the laughter was immediately stifled when you saw Steve start to settle down next to you in bed. He lay on his side and rested his head on his palm to look at you. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just gonna lie down next to you and talk to you. The only rule is that you can't speak; you'll close your eyes and listen to my voice."

Bossy.

You nodded silently and closed your eyes. You heard Steve sigh but didn't look at him again; after all, he had gone to all this trouble, so you would cooperate. You would do your part.

Then Steve began to talk. He spoke for at least an hour about his life, his folks, and what he wanted to do in the future when he graduated as a cop and started taking care of this town again, with Hopper as his boss. Damn it, it would be tough following the old man's orders, but he'd take it on. He didn't stop even when your intermittent breathing became a steady rhythm that could only mean you were finally catching some sleep. Steve didn't stop looking at you as he reached out to the speaker and lowered the volume of the ambient sound. He didn't stop even as the chirping of crickets seeped in from his backyard and formed a whispered melody along with the croaking of the frogs.

He couldn't stop looking at you.

Steve watched your eyelashes brush your cheeks. The air entering and exiting through your slightly parted lips as you breathed. He looked at your nose and traced imaginary lines on your face, following it with his gaze as if he were redrawing you. It wasn't fair that you couldn't rest, that it was so complicated for you. Steve had seen you sleep deeply in the most complicated places and under the most critical circumstances. You were perfect under pressure; something told him that you would prefer Vecna as an enemy than any internal demon that haunted your mind. He had seen more fear in your face when you thought that it would be another sleepless night than when one of the demodogs that attacked at Hopper's old cabin pinned you down with its weight and drooled over your face as if they were thinking about your taste even before taking a bite. Steve hit it right in the middle of its neck with his bat and didn't stop until Dustin told him it was more than dead, impaled against the wooden floor. He didn't know it then, but he would have killed any monster for you. Even the one that tormented you in your mind.

"Thank you," he finally spoke, stretching his other hand to caress your hair. "You've always taken care of us, and that's very little to say." He admitted, "I think you try to do it because you haven't managed to take care of yourself as you should." He whispered, removing a strand of hair that had floated over your face. "Relax; I'll do it."

You had made them all fulfill their promise in the hotel room that night with the sleeping pills. They had each been given a separate room, but trauma unifies, and they couldn't spend time apart; they all gathered in Eddie's room and spent hours together. After that, when things calmed down and they went through interviews with men dressed in black and serious looks, they went to a high-security clinic where Owen was waiting to give them a physical examination. None of the scars they had were completely healed; Eddie had to undergo skin grafts on his abdomen, and Max had to undergo rehabilitation to walk normally again.

"It's not enough," you had told Owen when he discharged them all with prescriptions for the best free medicine. The man raised his gaze from his folder to look at you through his glasses. "We need therapy."

"Kid…" Hopper spoke behind you with a tired voice, but you stopped him firmly.

"No," you turned to him and looked at Owen for a few seconds. "He smelled like a distillery even before the first attack of the first demogorgon," you reminded everyone. "How do you think he's going to be when all the adrenaline from this is gone? Hopper needs therapy. We all do. Max almost lost her sight; Eddie came back from the dead. You can't say everything is fine and send us back to a town where everyone will still judge us no matter what." Owen opened his mouth, but you weren't ready to stop talking. "You weren't there; you don't know what we had to go through. We don't even fully understand it ourselves; we literally avoided a dimensional catastrophe that wasn't our responsibility, Owen. They owe us."

The truth was, none of them except you thought therapy was a good idea. A monster had used their worst nightmares and traumas to get rid of them. They didn't want to have to open their hearts once a week to another stranger to take advantage of that. But you had been firm in making them all fulfill the commitment, and against all odds, they all agreed and completed their therapies as they should. Even Mike, who had shown extreme resistance to the heart-to-heart talk, had finally relented. You had won those kids over, Steve saw it. And he had to admit that was part of the reason why he sometimes felt jealous. It was pathetic to admit it; an adult jealous of children. But damn it; he would feel good if one day one of the hugs you gave to Will Byers was meant to be given to him.

"You are going to a lot of trouble for her," Dustin told him the next morning as he rudely chewed on a raspberry. "Hey! Little human vacuum: stop eating someone else's breakfast; this isn't for us." "You see? This is what I mean! I could be planning a new D&D campaign that would surprise Eddie and have him kissing my ass for the next decade, but here I am helping you surprise a girl." "It's not to surprise her; she finally slept more than eight hours and needs to eat," Steve began to respond as he poured some of Robin's pancake mix onto the hot skillet. "And I remind you that I'm the one driving thousands of miles so you and your sexier-than-Phoebe-Cates girlfriend, a fact I highly doubt, can see each other. So I would appreciate it if you stopped eating her food and helped me with this as I asked." Dustin frowned but continued to add raspberries to the mix anyway. "You know? I always thought you and Robin had something," Steve rolled his eyes and snorted. "Then for a moment, I thought you and Nancy would get back together by the dumb way you kept looking at her. But now this makes more sense." Steve squeezed a drop of the splashed pancake mix onto his finger and brought it to his mouth. "Yeah? Why is that?" Dustin, focused on his work, shrugged. "When you and Robin are together, you joke around like you and me, Steve, and I refuse to think you're into me." Steve made a disgusted gesture. "Gross, dude, enough." "That, and when you looked at Nancy, you suffered, Steve; you were the most miserable, pathetic…" "Don't be so kind, you'll make me cry." "…sad, and depressed," Dustin ignored his friend, handing him the bowl full of pancake mix. "but with her, you're happy; you smile. You don't have to pretend to be cool all the time, and you actually talk to her. Plus, you take care of her, and that's good because you've been breathing down my neck for so long and acting like my mom. I didn't want to tell you, but you were suffocating me, and you finding a girlfriend would be great for my individuality, Steve." Steve flipped the pancake to let the other side brown while making a face. "I get it, Henderson, you need space, and I'll give it to you as soon as you finish helping me with the coffee and get out of here." Dustin scratched his nose and coughed. "Ass-hole." Dustin was right; you brought out the best in him. Steve could talk to you and not feel like he had to impress you all the time. You made his stomach flutter, but you didn't make him act like an idiot. It was too difficult for him to figure out whether what he felt with you was a friendship that was too strong or something more. He missed you the weeks you were studying at the University, and when you came back to Hawkins, you were never close enough to him.

"I think it would be a big step to go on dates with lots of girls that would end when you drop them off at their houses the next morning," Robin had told him one day while they were rearranging the movie shelves at Family Video after Steve told her about his plan. They had stood up after the earthquake, and Keith hadn't wanted anything to do with the business again. Steve and Robin decided to take over; having a business and extra money in their pockets wasn't bad. Max, Will, and Dustin took turns after school, and they had officially entered the workforce, earning some bills that they could later spend on whatever those little gremlins spent their money on now. "Robin, it's already weird enough to have an ex in your friend circle, two would be too many, and it's a risk I'm not willing to take." His best friend let out a mocking laugh. "Ding, ding, ding, ding, Dingus! you just admitted you like her." Obviously, Steve liked you, he thought now as he plated the pancakes after getting rid of Dustin and dispatching him to Eddie's house where they would plan their new campaign or something like that. Steve liked many things and people; otherwise, he wouldn't surround himself with them. The issue was figuring out what kind of feeling he had for you. It didn't help that everyone seemed to have it figured out except him. Besides, even if he did figure it out. What about you? What did you feel about him?

Steve was your damn hero, you thought as you stretched between the soft sheets of the most comfortable bed you had ever tried and opened your eyes after a huge and shameless yawn. You looked at the ceiling of the room, trying to contain your joy. You looked at the clock on the bedside table on one side of the bed and laughed softly when you saw it was exactly noon. You had slept for over twelve hours; that was more than you usually rested in a week at College. You raised a victorious fist and got out of bed to brush your teeth and freshen up a bit before heading downstairs and looking for Steve on the first floor. You found him squeezing the juice from an orange in his kitchen when he looked at you somewhat dismayed. You walked towards him with a smile and gave him a tight hug, burying your face in his chest and feeling him slowly return the hug.

"Thank you, Steve. I really rested," you moved away from him and looked around; on a tray were syrup, raspberry pancakes, and freshly scrambled eggs. "Did you make all this?" Steve scratched his neck, somewhat embarrassed. "Dustin came over for a while to help," he admitted, and then saw your rested face without being able to help but smile. "How nice of him," you said with a smile. If you had heard his string of complaints, you wouldn't find him so nice. But he wouldn't tell you that. "Are you hungry?" "Famished!" Steve saw the sparkle in your eyes; even your smile was different when you rested. As you chewed your breakfast with gusto and asked him about his graduation from the police academy, Steve observed you again carefully so you wouldn't notice it, partly because he didn't want you to think it was strange, but also because the little adrenaline rush he got from it was addictive. He didn't know what was going on: he had known you for years, you were never a point on his radar. He knew that if he tried hard enough, he could count the times you both talked in high school and would only need the fingers of one hand. You were never attractive to him enough to be his friend, let alone something more. It's true that if he tried to remember, he could say that you always had that pleasant smile and those huge eyes that seemed to read whoever they saw. You were also nice; you never paid special attention to Tommy and Carol, nor did it seem to matter to you to be part of the school's social hierarchy, nor did it seem to matter to you to be his friend even after the Hawkins attack. Although it's true that you were always kind, he couldn't say that they became friends until a year or two ago. Steve had lived a life without you; the curious thing was that now he found it hard to imagine the rest of his life without you in it.

Your heart seemed to ache. It was strange because you were happy, very happy; you had had a bath with aromatic salts, a good dinner, most importantly: a good rest and a delicious breakfast. But your heart hurt. Today was a good day, and you didn't want to be ungrateful, but you wouldn't have this forever; and you didn't talk about the shower, the food, or the, oh, comfortable bed the size of a Cadillac. No, this; to Steve. You couldn't help feeling that your happiness had an expiration date, and it was too soon. Your stomach hurt, your chest hurt, and your mind hurt. Anyway, you tried not to show it, and in the afternoon when Steve dropped you off at your house after vegging out in his living room eating the leftovers from the night before and watching comfort movies like The Breakfast Club and The Princess Bride, which Eddie had gotten in some non-legal but not illegal way since it had come out only a few months ago in theaters, you tried not to look at him too much or try to count the moles on his neck because it was real torture. He had looked at you with those eyes and smiled as he said goodbye to you. You saw him watching you until you entered your house and said goodbye with a wave one last time. He drove away in his car, and you stayed by the window because it was almost physically impossible to move away from there. "And then?" your mother's voice sounded behind you, which was the only thing that made you move. You turned to her still holding the bag with the soft pajamas that Steve had refused to let you return. "Steve told me his plan. Did you manage to sleep?" You nodded, and your mother approached to hug you while making little cries of joy. You hid your head in her neck and started crying, it took a couple of seconds before your mother noticed. Damn Steve Harrington and his consideration for telling his plan to your mother. Damn, damn it. "What's wrong?" your mom asked, worried, cradling your face. "I need help, Mom," you hiccupped, and the phrase was barely understandable. You saw your mother raise her eyebrows and nod. "Of course, but what's wrong? What do you feel?" You tried to breathe and put your hand on your chest. "F-fear" Your mother's expression softened, making her look younger when she seemed to understand what you meant. "Oh, no, sweetheart. No," she kissed your forehead and wiped your tears with a small consoling smile. "You're in love."

Yes, at least Steve had recognized the symptoms.

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