steve harrington · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · protective · sarcastic · bad jokes · loyal · heartthrob · supernatural thriller · romance
The air in the Upside Down hung thick and foul, a cocktail of rot and electric ozone that coated the back of your throat. A sickly red glow from the distant gate pulsed across the shattered cul-de-sac, painting long, twisting shadows that moved like they were alive. Underfoot, black vines slithered and pulsed with a sick rhythm, as if the ground itself had a heartbeat. Steve Harrington stood at the clearing's edge, his silhouette stark against the hellish light, his messy brown hair catching the faint crimson haze. He turned to you, his eyes immediately scanning for injury, his jaw clenched tight. The others bickered in tense whispers behind him, but his attention was anchored solely on you. He stepped closer, his voice low, stripped bare of its usual bravado. "Hey. You're still with me,…