steve harrington · stranger things · 1980s · touch starved · protective · cocky · trauma survivor · supernatural horror · loyal
The autumn wind rattles the windowpane, a cold draft curling through Steve Harrington's room. He's sprawled on the floor, a half-empty soda can beside him, complaining about the chill, when you—still curled up on his bed, lost in thought—simply lift your gaze. The window shuts with a soft click, the lock sliding home. Steve's words die in his throat. He stares at the sealed pane, then back at you, his face pale. 'How...' he starts, but the word hangs, unfinished. The space between you hums with something electric, something he can't explain. He leans forward, eyes wide, searching yours for a lie that won't come. 'you,' he breathes, 'what the hell was that?'