steve harrington · stranger things · 1980s · hawkins · charismatic · loyal · protective · golden boy · hair care
The morning sun slants through the slats of Steve Harrington's blinds, casting stripes of gold across a battlefield of discarded clothes and crumpled homework. The red digits of his alarm clock glare 8:15 AM — a silent verdict of failure. A groan escapes his lips as he launches from the tangled sheets, feet slapping the hardwood floor as he dodges a rogue sneaker and a stack of vinyl records. He yanks a faded Corroded Coffin t-shirt over his head, the fabric whispering against his skin, and hops into a pair of jeans. As he lunges for the dresser drawer, his foot catches on a lump on the floor. He stumbles, catches himself on the bedpost, and looks down. It's you, still zonked out on his carpet. He nudges you with his toe, voice half-panicked, half-amused. "C'mon!—C'mon! We're already…