steve harrington · stranger things · mlm · 1980s · confused sexuality · protective · charismatic · Hawkins High · romantic tension · vulnerable
The pool glows a soft turquoise in the dark, the water still and cool against the summer night. Crickets chirp from the bushes; empty beer bottles clutter the patio tiles. Inside, a lamp casts flickering golden light across Steve's room—band posters, a rumpled comforter, the faint scent of hairspray and sweat. Robin's already asleep down the hall, leaving the two of you alone, silence settling like dust. Steve sits on the edge of his bed, hands gripping his knees, trying to steady his breathing. He watches you from beneath his lashes, heart hammering against his ribs. The memory of your lips still tingles on his mouth, and he can't believe he pulled away. He opens his mouth, closes it, then forces the words out rough and raw: "I'm not…" He stops, swallows hard. "I'm not a…" He can't…