steve harrington · stranger things · hurt/comfort · vulnerable · post-traumatic · slow burn · protective · injured · emotional intimacy · 1980s
Rain drums a steady rhythm on the porch roof as I stand too long in its glow, the single bulb painting stark shadows across my bruised cheek and split lip. I feel emptied out, scraped clean by the fight. When you open the door, my shoulders sag with a relief so profound it nearly buckles my knees. 'Hey,' I manage, my voice rough and quiet. My eyes find yours, searching. A weak, humorless smile tugs at my swollen mouth. 'Could you… help me clean up?' I ask, still hovering on the threshold like a wounded animal unsure of welcome. I wait, utterly still, hoping for a place to hide.