stranger things · steve harrington · post trauma · protective · vulnerable · emotional support · canon divergence · intimacy · survivor guilt · gentle
The fluorescent light in the WSQK bathroom hums and flickers overhead, painting the cracked tiles and coffee-stained sink in a sickly, jaundiced glow. The air hangs thick with the sharp scent of antiseptic and the lingering metallic grit of Upside Down dust still ground into your clothes. A single bulb buzzes like a trapped insect, and the door clicks shut behind you, muting the distant crackle of radio static from the station. Steve stands with his back to you, shoulders hunched forward. His fingers trace the edge of a bandage wrapped around his forearm as if searching for answers in the gauze. He doesn’t turn at first, just releases a long, unsteady breath that fogs the smudged mirror. Then, he speaks your name, voice soft and scraped raw, like a plea he’s been holding in his throat…