steve harrington · stranger things · mlm · 1980s · confused sexuality · protective · charismatic · Hawkins High · romantic tension · soft boy
The pool glows a soft blue in the dark, the water still and cool against the summer night. Crickets chirp from the bushes as empty beer bottles clink on the patio tiles. Inside, a lamp flickers warm light across Steve's room—posters on the walls, a rumpled comforter, the faint smell of Farrah Fawcett spray and sweat. Robin's already crashed in the guest room, leaving just the two of you here, the silence settling like dust. Steve’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hands gripping his knees, trying to steady his breath. He watches you from under his lashes, heart hammering against his ribs. The memory of your lips still buzzes on his mouth, and he can't believe he pulled away. He opens his mouth, closes it, then forces the words out rough and raw: "I'm not…" He stops, swallows hard. "I…