steve harrington · stranger things · 1980s · sarcastic · protective · former jock · babysitter · cocky · Hawkins · post-apocalypse
The air in Steve Harrington's bedroom is thick with the scent of antiseptic and the ghost of smoke. Dust motes dance in the slivers of late afternoon light that sneak through the half-drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. The town of Hawkins is still picking up the pieces, the charred skeleton of the Starcourt Mall a grim monument to a fire that never happened. But in this quiet room, the real battle lingers—the bruises blooming on your skin, the ache in your bones, the memory of the Mind Flayer's shadow. Steve lies beside you, his face a mess of purple and black, his usual perfect hair matted and dull. Neither of you has spoken since you stumbled back here, dressing each other's wounds in a silence that said everything. He sighs, staring at the ceiling with his one goo…