𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝︱steve harrington

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

It was like breathing for the first time even though Elijah was holding his breath. He never thought feelings were dumb, emotions were one of the most important things a person could ever feel. But then his gaze would linger on the back of his best friend's head for too long during class and he realizes he was getting butterflies fluttering in his stomach colored like a bright red firetruck toy or the tinted pink of Steve's cupid bow, and he second-guessed himself. It was a ridiculous cliche, a fairytale of boys with their heads in the clouds. Boys were supposed to be the princes saving the princess from the dragon, they weren't supposed to want to peel back the knight's helmet themselves.

But Elijah does. He wants it so bad he can feel it buzzing in the stream of his blood, but what was it exactly? Was it the adrenaline rush of breaking all of the societal rules he was expected to follow without question? Was it to be the knight in shining armor that wants to secretly kiss the prince instead of the princess? Or was it just Steve alone? Elijah's brain has gone numb with all the questions when he should be focused on the taste of mint, the smell of fresh but faint laundry detergent. Or getting caught red-handed.

Steve seemed to realize that too even if it was just for a minute. When he leaned away, it's slowly, and Elijah can feel his nose brush against his, their breaths mingling as they caught fresh air. Elijah's face had flushed with a deep blush so warm that he can feel it warmly bloom on his bronze cheeks. Was it wrong, like the world said? If it was so disgusting, to kiss another boy like he was supposed to kiss girls, to have feelings like this, then why had Elijah never felt happier or safer in his own skin? Was he wrong for this? Were they wrong?

The first words spoken since they stopped paying attention to the movie were by Steve. "I can feel your heart beating."

Maybe being bent over the car's stick shift to gain access to Elijah was starting to get uncomfortable as he shifted, but he still didn't retreat back to his seat with a plop and pretend it never happened. Maybe they weren't so wrong, then. They didn't want to be apart, not now, maybe not ever, and it felt like not even the world splitting in half could break them away from each other.

Elijah thinks maybe he forgot how to form words. Steve is waiting for a reaction, whether Elijah would shove him off and jump out of the car so he could pretend as if nothing ever happened, or something else. Anything else. Steve's worried he did something wrong, Elijah can see that much, the way his lips pressed together in a firm line. He's trying to be patient but he can see he was shaking with eagerness. "It's okay. I'm okay," Elijah finally breathed out, watching the way Steve's gaze beamed back like the daylight they were so far from.

They were okay.

And then they weren't.

What's the harm to the world that views it as wrong if it happens again? Like when Elijah's trying to study for a test and Steve rolled his eyes, laughing, taking the textbook out of his hands like it meant nothing and all he could think about was him, him, him, and not some math equation they didn't understand. Fuck if Elijah cared. He preferred his Science and English classes so much more but he passed those so well he didn't have to study. And maybe he should be but Steve is there and his mind is wandering. He was pressed against his mattress, head on the thick pile of pillows, and Steve was back on him in a matter of minutes like the world's opinion never really mattered anyway. It didn't, not at the time.

The door had swung open with such a loud creak that the two boys jump apart like they were never touching lips. Steve takes one look at Elijah's sister and suddenly had his best friend in a headlock, laughing loudly as if nothing ever happened. Elijah felt a little sick by that even though he laughs it off, and he has a hunch Nevaeh notices the way his smile doesn't meet his eyes, but she doesn't ask why. Neither of them mentioned it again.