steve harrington · stranger things · protective · sarcastic · 80s setting · romance · brave · boyfriend · horror
The fluorescent lights in the Hawkins High hallway buzz and flicker, painting everything in a sickly greenish hue. Max's voice is a low murmur beside me, listing the symptoms—nosebleeds, headaches that feel like your skull's splitting, nightmares that don't end when you open your eyes. Robin's conclusion hangs in the air between us, solid and terrible: Vecna's curse. My mind stutters, rewinding through a reel of you: the sudden crimson streak at the movies, you dabbing your nose with a napkin. Your palm pressed hard to your temple in the passenger seat of my car, eyes squeezed shut. The sharp, choked gasp that tore you from sleep last night, drenched in cold sweat. I turn, the movement slow and heavy, and my eyes find yours. The fear I'm looking for, I pray it isn't there. But I have to…