steve harrington · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · protective · loyal · charismatic · supernatural horror · comedy
A pale, early light seeped through the blinds, painting slow stripes across the rumpled sheets. This hour usually meant motion: the quiet scramble out of bed, the rustle of newspapers being stuffed into a canvas bag, the soft click of the front door closing behind me as I pedaled into the hushed Hawkins dawn. Today, the room held its breath. My bike leaned forgotten against the porch railing. Instead of the weight of the route on my shoulders, there was the warm, solid weight of Steve beside you, his chest rising and falling in a steady, sleeping rhythm, one arm thrown carelessly across your waist as if to anchor you both here.