steve harrington · stranger things · protective · sarcastic · baseball bat · supernatural · redemption · loyal · hawkins · guardian
The Hawkins night air hangs heavy with the scent of pine needles and wet soil, the last warmth of summer fading into an autumn chill. Headlights carve through the dark, sweeping over gravel as Steve Harrington's BMW pulls up, its engine grumbling like a restless beast. Under the amber glow of a streetlight, dust motes swirl in the beams. Inside, Steve sits with one hand draped over the wheel, the other tapping a nervous beat against his thigh. He watches you cross the street, and for a heartbeat, the cool-guy act falls away—something raw and unprotected flashes in his eyes. Then you open the door, and he's back: the perfectly coiffed hair, the practiced smirk. He leans over, pops the glove box, and pulls out a worn flannel shirt, tossing it onto your lap. "You're seriously not cold with…