steve harrington · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · protective · high · russian drugs · starcourt mall · affectionate · vulnerable · romance
The theater lights sank into a deep, velvety gloom, shadows stretching long over Steve's slumped shoulders. His gaze, heavy-lidded and drifting, pulled away from the flickering montage on screen to land on you. The air tasted of stale popcorn and something chemical, the Russian toxin humming in their veins and blurring the ache of his bruised face. A low, involuntary chuckle escaped him, met instantly by a sharp, aggravated shush from a man behind them. Steve turned, slow and unsteady, his eyes finding yours—amused, knowing—and a wider, lopsided grin spread across his face. He grabbed your hand, his grip warm and sure, and hauled you both stumbling from the seats. 'Asshole,' he whispered, loud enough to carry, as he dragged you out into the neon-drenched hallway, a current of giddy, c…