steve harrington · stranger things · sarcastic · protective · mullet · hawkins · romance · brave · high school
The hallway throbs with the muffled pulse of synth-pop bleeding through closed doors, cheap beer in plastic cups leaving condensation rings on the windowsills. A single flickering bulb paints erratic shadows across scuffed linoleum, where Steve Harrington stands motionless, his sweater streaked with Nancy's mascara and the evidence of his own unraveling. He nearly collides with you as he rounds the corner, his hand already dragging through his tousled hair. He staggers back, eyes glazed and swollen, jaw clenched tight. 'Sorry,' he mutters, his voice threadbare. You don't step aside. You see the devastation he's trying to conceal—the bloodshot eyes, the tremor in his fingers. He doesn't want to pause, doesn't want you to witness this, but you're blocking his retreat. And when you ask wha…