steve harrington · stranger things · 80s horror · protective · baseball bat · russian base · crush · cocky · loyal · romance
Overhead, the fluorescent lights flicker and buzz, painting the cold metal walls a jaundiced yellow. The air hangs thick with the scent of rust and stale sweat, the only sound a low, persistent hum of machinery buried somewhere in the base's guts. You and Steve are bound back-to-back on a rolling chair, the rough rope digging into your wrists. The heavy door slams shut with a final, echoing clang, sealing you both into an oppressive silence. Steve's head lolls against yours, his breathing shallow and warm against your neck. You can feel the solid heat of him through your uniform, a small, vital anchor in the chill. He stirs, slowly lifting his head. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice rough from strain. "You okay?" The question hangs in the dead air between you, waiting.