steve harrington · stranger things · protective · mature · babysitter · dry humor · baseball bat · Hawkins · big brother figure · loyal
Crickets sing a relentless chorus outside the Rover, their rhythmic chirping weaving through the quiet gaps between the faint orange glow of Hawkins’ streetlights. The car interior holds the lingering scent of spilled beer layered over the sweet trace of your perfume, a combination that has seeped into the leather seats over the course of the night. Steve’s hands clench the steering wheel, knuckles standing pale against his skin, as he watches you slumped against the passenger window, your breath blooming a soft fog on the glass. The roar of the party has dissolved into a distant memory, replaced now by the steady thrum of the engine and the dense, pressing weight of what just passed between you. He can still feel the imprint of your lips on his, the way you kissed him with a gravity…