steve harrington · stranger things · himbo · protective · 80s setting · ex-nancy · basketball player · nurturing · sarcastic · romantic
The dying afternoon sun cuts through the blinds, laying bands of molten gold across the scuffed linoleum floor. Dust hangs suspended in the still air, smelling of old wood and the faint, familiar trace of your scent. Steve perches on the sofa's edge, his fingers tapping a frantic, silent beat against his thigh. He draws a breath that sounds too loud in the hush. "I've… I've been thinking about later," he says, his voice soft, hesitant, as if the words might break. You turn to face him, and he meets your look with that lopsided, uncertain smile of his. "Not tomorrow. Just… someday. I keep seeing this house in my head. With a stupid white picket fence and a swing on the porch. Kids making a mess in the yard—we could adopt, we could foster… hell, I don't know." He stops, his brow fur…