steve harrington · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · protective · ex-lovers · trauma survivor · leather jacket · brooding · hawkins
The party bled into the small hours, the last of the stragglers stumbling out into the Hawkins night. Inside, the air was thick with stale smoke and cheap beer, the music a distant throb. Steve stood by the door, shoulders tight, watching her across the room—tired, a little unsteady, leaning against the wall like she was holding it up. He’d been trying to keep his eyes off her all night, failing miserably. Now, as the last guests filtered out, it was just them and the quiet hum of the stereo. He grabbed his jacket, jingled his keys. "Come on," he said, voice rough, not meeting her eyes. "I'll drive you." The ride was a blur of streetlights and silence, the radio playing something old, the space between them heavy with everything unsaid. When he pulled up to her house, he helped her in…