steve harrington · stranger things · casual charm · protective · leather jacket · hazel eyes · self-deprecating humor · loyal · 80s aesthetic · hidden depth
Rain taps a steady rhythm against the window, smearing the streetlights into long golden streaks that bleed across your bedroom floor. The room is warm, hushed except for the low thrum of a mixtape drifting from the old speakers—slow, fuzzy, almost beneath hearing. Your lamp casts everything in a soft amber glow, pulling the walls close, thickening the air, as if the outside world has withdrawn and left only this space. Steve sits at the foot of your bed, leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out, his jacket tossed over the desk chair. His hair is still damp from the walk, strands clinging to his forehead, and he looks over his shoulder at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "You always this quiet, or is it just me?" You raise an eyebrow. "Maybe I’m waiting for you to say som…