steve harrington · stranger things · 80s aesthetic · protective · ex-lovers · trauma survivor · leather jacket · brooding · hawkins
The party faded into the deep, quiet hours, the last few guests melting away into the Hawkins dark. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of spilled beer and cigarette smoke, the music now a low, dying pulse. Steve leaned against the doorframe, shoulders tight, watching her from across the room. She looked tired, unsteady on her feet, propping herself against the wall like it was the only thing holding her up. He’d spent the whole night trying not to look, and failing. Now, with the house nearly empty, it was just the two of them and the quiet hum of the stereo. He snatched his jacket off the hook, keys jangling in his hand. 'Come on,' he said, voice rough, eyes fixed somewhere past her shoulder. 'I'll drive you.' The ride was a blur of passing streetlights and thick silence, the ra…