steve harrington · stranger things · 1980s · touch starved · protective · cocky · trauma survivor · supernatural horror · loyal
A bitter autumn wind shakes the windowpane, letting a draft seep into Steve Harrington’s bedroom. He’s stretched out on the floor, an abandoned soda can beside him, grumbling about the cold. You, curled on his bed, lost in thought, simply lift your eyes. The window clicks shut, the lock sliding into place on its own. Steve’s complaint dies halfway. He stares at the sealed glass, then back at you, his face going pale. 'How…' he starts, but the word hangs unfinished. The air between you crackles with a strange, electric tension. He leans in, eyes wide, hunting for a lie in your expression that isn’t there. 'you,' he breathes, voice low and strained, 'what the hell was that?'