038. 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆, 𝘂𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝘆, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙙𝙡𝙮
𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝘆𝗼𝘂.
𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔,
and it suddenly occurred to me how beautiful your smile was. I heard music in your laughter, I saw poetry in your words. You asked me why I had that look on my face, as though a shadow had fallen across it's sun-drenched landscape, heavy with premonition, dark with revelation. The second I tried to tell myself I wasn't in love was the moment I realized I was.
LANG LEAV
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, the sun was spilling through his eggshell curtains. The beams of unusual sunlight streamed past the fleece of them, and casted the room in a blissful morning glow that she could see even behind her closed eyes. Her eyelids, usually tinted with a dark color because of the constant gloom in every part of Hawkins, now shielded her morning vision from the harsh sun— the sun that was so unusual for such a gloomy town. When her brain first awoke and she took in the surprising bright color of her closed eyelids, her eyes formed into slits before slowly fluttering open.
Slowly, her eyes opened in a tired, aching way— and the very first thing she saw when they opened was Steve. Through her squinted eyes and foggy eyesight from after-sleep haze, the first thing she noticed was Steve's face, still directed to the ceiling but slightly turned to face the window now, just the same as when he'd fallen asleep. His arm wasn't around her back anymore— because Lori was a mover in her sleep— so it lay there between both of their bodies, the other one folded up to rest on the pillow next to his head. She was on her side, she'd woken up like that, facing him, her head a little lower on the adjacent pillow.
Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him, and she couldn't help but stare— suddenly struck by something. Stared at the side of his face, illuminated in the sun, right there beside hers. She stared at his hair, the way the light bounced off the strands of it and curled into the tiniest swirls at his ears. And then she trailed her eyes down to his neck, and then his shoulders— wondering why there was so much skin exposed. And then she realized, with a tiny gasp, that he had no shirt on.
She nearly sat right up in the bed, heart immediately jumping into a race because, for a second, she'd forgotten how the night ended. Sometimes waking up does that to you— the morning haze can make you forget things in your first waking moments. And Lori was a sucker for morning haze. Lifting her head from the pillow, she looked to his side of the room, where his shirt lay on the ground— seeming like it had been thrown in the night. And still, the situation not catching up to her, she inhaled sharply at the thought of them last night— was she forgetting something? His shirt was on the floor.
And then it clicked in her brain. She let out a breath of refreshed air and slowly placed her head back down on the pillow— finally remembering exactly what happened the night before. She'd fallen asleep in his arms, no sex, and he must've taken his shirt off sometime in the night from being too warm. Her breathing returned to its normal rhythm when it set in and she realized they actually did not have sex— even though it looked that way and seemed that way at first. But her heart did not return to its normal beating because she realized, with delicious nervousness that he was still very much shirtless even so, right there next to her. His bare bicep just an inch from her own.
She couldn't help but stare at his chest, noticing the way the light danced off his bare skin and contoured every curve. The way it tiptoed down his stomach, all the way to where the blankets cut off the rest— right at the hem of his pyjama pants. Sweet honey sun rays painted beautifully on his skin, she stared at the crystallines pinned on the valley of his chest and the dawn slipping to the faint crimson of his cheeks. She revelated in his silken bare shoulders lying underneath the sun, and the satin kiss of his sheets on her body— clinging to their bones. The gleam of lost incandescence from the night before lingered in the air, the air adorned with the tiniest crystal particles that floated around them and bathed every inch of his face in glorious tranquility, streaming in lines from the curtains.
God, he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
As her eyes made their way from his golden face and chest to his abdomen, she noticed a slight discoloration in some parts of his stomach. And when she tilted her head up from the pillow to get a better look, she realised with a thud in her heart that they were bruises. A few purple and red bruises scattered along his abdomen— one on the side of his body, one near his navel, and one near his ribs on the opposite side. Her eyebrows twitched and she drew in a tight breath— feeling her chest constrict at the sight. She couldn't help but place her finger along one of the bruises, just barely touching it, and just grazing her skin along his in the softest, most subtle manner. She felt choked up all of a sudden, just staring down at his body like that. His face was beat and bandaged, and she was right earlier about there being bruises all over.
When her eyes traveled back to his face, his peaceful, sleeping face, her heart pattered against her chest. Something was swirling in her stomach, deep in the very pit of her belly. And the more she stared at his features in the sunlight, the more that feeling blossomed and flowered and traveled upwards. To where it resided in her chest, now. Her heart picked up its pace, beating against the cage of her ribs and bouncing off her sternum. This feeling, this sentiment, floated slowly inside of her chest, countouring her heart and synchronizing with its beats. She sort of felt it moving, as she stared at his hair and the messy swoop, moving from her chest up to her throat and leaving a stinging residue in its path. But not the bad kind of stinging— a feeling so good that it hurt.
The more it grew, the more her mind started to slow down on a single thought. It was sort of abstract at first, this single thought, but with every second passed, the more it became clear. And her heart picked up, proportional with this phenomenon she couldn't identify. Slowly, as her eyes trailed down the bridge of his nose and landed on his lips, it grew and grew. Until finally, staring at his closed eyes and his eyelashes— it hit her smack in the stomach and sent a chill down the back of her spine.
She realized, in that moment, that Steve Harrington would never know just how much he meant to her.
With her head on the pillow, she let out a breath of air, sort of feeling her hands begin to shake. Finally she tore her eyes from his face and looked down to where his arm lay on the bed between them, sliding her hand down to come over his. Softly, and careful not to wake him, she intertwined their fingers— although his fingers were limp against her hand. The feeling of it brought her back to when they were in the Byers living room, how fast she'd grabbed his hand when the demodog flew through the window. How he'd intertwined their fingers like the world depended on it.
She switched her eyes over to the window, sniffling a little bit. She did not know what time it was, and she didn't really care if her mom was up, pulling her damn hair out wondering where Lori had gone now. All she could think about was the boy beside her, their hands woven together on the sheets of his bed, and how much he made her heart go crazy just by existing in the sunlight.
Weeks ago, she would've been scared by a realization of this sort. The second it hit, she would've evacuated immediately— or better yet, she wouldn't have even gotten to this point in the first place. It was supposed to be a scary thing, she always thought, when you realize someone holds so much impact on your life. Her mindset was always that if somebody became something to you, they also became something to lose, too. And so she'd always thought that it was a bad thing, a scary thing, to have someone mean so much. But now, this, this wasn't scary. This didn't want to make her run away. Or cut everyone off. Or wallow in denial like she'd been doing with Steve in the beginning.
This felt good. And she was scared, yeah, but not the kind of scared that made her want to run away. The kind of scared that made her want to hug him tighter.
She didn't know how much time had passed as she laid there awake, thinking about it all. It could've been an hour, it could've been ten minutes. She lied there until suddenly, she felt a squeeze on her hand.
She turned to see Steve's eyes slowly peeling open as he yawned, quite extravagantly, causing her to let out a small laugh and look back to the window. Slowly, he came to his senses, and turned to look at her.
"Hi," he whispered, voice soft and rested.
She looked to him, and caught his eyes— hers glimmering, "Hi, you," she said back, with the same whisper.
He let out a tiny grunt as he stretched his back. "Have you been up for a while," he asked, and his thumb began rubbing along the skin of her hand, comfortingly.
She couldn't help but smile— as if the feelings in her stomach stuck a permanent grin to her lips. "I don't know," she said, staring into his brown eyes, "I think so,"
Letting out a tiny breath, he rose his opposite hand and placed his fingers softly on her temple. He pushed back her hair, trailing his eyes over her face. "How'd you sleep," he asked, genuinely wanting to know.
She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling for a moment, smiling, "Best sleep of my entire life," she joked, humorously. "Twas' splendid."
His hand lingered there on the side of her head. His thumb grazed the skin of her temple and his fingers bathed in the softness of her hair, resting there so delicately. He trailed his eyes all over her face, like he was getting used to doing, but more specifically at the way she glowed in the morning sun. No, he would never get used to it. He would marvel in her beauty each and every time. How her eyes shimmered with a glint, the reflection of the sun behind his curtains glimmering in their waters. How it enlightened her features in the best, most gorgeous way. He'd never seen her in such sunlight, and he marveled in the sight of her blossoming underneath it.
"You are so beautiful, Lori Philbin," he couldn't help the words falling from his mouth, so quietly, with such certainty. And then his eyes fell on hers, and he swallowed, "I'm serious."
Her heart practically threw itself into her ass, and her eyes softened in his. "Steve," she said, voice falling to a whisper.
"You don't have to say anything," he smiled at her, a soft, calming smile as he stroked her hair. "I just want to make sure you know."
There it was again, the most perfect response. He was always telling her she didn't have to do things if she didn't want to, that she didn't have to reply if she didn't have an answer, that she didn't have to do a goddamn thing for him to still be enthralled by her in every way.
He always left absolutely everything up to her— waiting for her to give the green light. Always.
"And, uh," she swallowed, "I just want to make sure that you know," she looked down to his bare chest, "That you, um, you have no shirt on,"
He shut his eyes and tried to fight the smile that rose to his lips, but it was hopeless. He smiled anyways, a laugh coming through his nose. "You're ridiculous, Philbs, you know that?"
She laughed out loud, placing her hand on his bare shoulder, staring down at his chest. "I mean not that I particularly mind, or anything, it was just kind of shocki—"
"How long have you been up for?" He asked through a chuckle. He turned onto his back to adjust his legs, looking at her in the process. "Were you staring at me the whole time I was asleep?" he fake-gawked, joking.
"Yeah, I just couldn't take my eyes away from you," she played along sarcastically, pushing his chest a little bit. "And your bandaged face."
"Creepy," He grimaced, sarcastically— although he found it quite adorable— and ran a hand through his messy hair on the pillow. His eyes traveled down on her body, to where the waistline of her pyjama pants was visible out of the blankets. "I thought you said you didn't sleep with pants on?" humorously, he implied, why are you still wearing them then?
"Shut up," she kicked his legs under the blanket, and he kicked back as she laughed. "You're ridiculous."
Laughing, and tangling their legs together, his eyes trailed back down to her waistline. He couldn't help but take notice of her shirt being pushed up just a little bit on the bed to reveal a part of her stomach, her belly-button visible. His heart battered against his chest.
Their playful shoving took to the next level when he reached down for her waist, wrapping his arm around it and pulling her up from the covers. Laughing loudly, she pushed herself from lying down and pretended to fight back, but really she was going to let him pull her wherever he wanted. Her hands slid down to his chest. Faintly grunting from the pain in his arm, he pulled her on top of him and naturally, her legs found either side of his body— sitting on top of his hips.
Her breath sort of caught in her throat when she realized what she was doing. For a second, she stared down at him, his bare chest underneath her legs and his head there on the pillow, angled up to look at her. Somewhere in the transition, her hands found their way to his chest, and slid down to his stomach. His hands rested on the sides of her thighs.
"Is your lip still busted?" softly, she reached her hand up and placed a finger on his chin, tilting it down. "Damn it."
He chuckled at that, and her hands rose with the movement of his chest. Slowly, his large hands traveled up and down the sides of her thighs, in a comforting manner. She flickered her eyes down to his torso below her, eyes drawn to the bruises there.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry," she moved herself back a little bit so she wasn't on top of one, her face now worried. "Do they still hurt?"
He lifted his head a little to look down at them, and then placed his head back down on the pillow with a groan. "No, not really." he looked up at her, as she stared down at the bruises. "I'm fine, Philbs."
"Are you sure?" she asked, grazing the tip of her finger over the one on his side.
"Just got kicked a few times, that's all," he laughed lightly, trying to lighten the mood. His hand made its way up to her waist, fingers spread out along her hip.
"Oh my god, Steve, you're like purple and blue all over," she looked from his abdomen to his face, where there were still bruises. "Son of a bitch," she referred to Billy.
"I'll be fine," he assured her, speaking so certainly. "How about we go look at those tapes, huh? Take our mind off it,"
She smiled lightly at his efforts to reassure her. And then her smile grew bigger when he smiled, and suddenly he was sitting up. She moved off from his lap, placing her foot on the ground below his bed. He slowly sat up, groaning slightly out of pain, as she climbed out of bed. While he swung his legs over the edge, she reached down for his shirt.
"Where are these famous Bowie tapes I've heard so much about," she hummed, and tossed his shirt at his chest as he stood up.
He laughed and caught the shirt, but tossed it on the bed as she walked by the window, past the ladder, and into the main walkway of his bedroom. She looked so good, there in his bedroom.
"In that little cabinet beside the desk," he instructed, adjusting the waistline of his pants. Slower than her, and with a smile on his face, he followed her steps as she hopped on her foot towards said-cabinet.
She bent down to the ground and pulled on the drawer, instantly revealing his collection of cassettes and records. Eager, her eyes trailed around, and she noticed an old record player sitting under his desk.
"Holy shit, you have a record player?" she reached down under the desk for it. "I didn't think you were the type, Harrington."
"That old thing?" he said, and placed his hand on the desk as she rose and put the record player on top. The side of her body touched his frontside as she did. "Jesus Christ, that thing is, like, a decade old,"
"I bet it still works," she grinned from ear to ear. Lori was a sucker for music, records, cassettes, all of the above. And he liked that.
Smiling to himself, he walked behind her to look through the records as she set the old thing up, flipping through his dusty collection. Right when she fixed it up and was reaching for the small speaker perched on a shelf just above them, he flipped a random record to the side and there it was.
"Holy shit," he let out a breath. "Holy shit, no way,"
She stood back on her feet from reaching up to the shelf, pulling the speaker down with her. "What?" she said.
He didn't say anything, just pulled the record out and looked at her. Her jaw fell open at the sight of David Bowie's Aladdin Sane vinyl, right there in his hands. With The Prettiest Star on it.
"I haven't used that thing in years, I forgot all about the records I have," he stood up, staring down at the cover in awe.
"Oh my god," her smiled was stretched from ear to ear. "Put it on."
As he took the record out and placed it onto the player, she sat back down in front of the drawer and resumed looking through the tapes, flipping through them slowly. Her eyes boggled at the Bowie albums upon Bowie albums sitting there in the drawer, sliding aside the ones she meant to keep, or borrow. When she had slid the fourth tape aside, a familiar tune captured her attention— coming from the speaker on his desk. It stopped after a second, and she looked up to see him lift the needle from the spinning record.
"What are you doing?" she asked casually, slowly pushing herself to stand. "Don't fiddle with the vinyl, idiot."
"Just wait," he said, quietly, focused on the needle.
She watched as he hovered the needle over the spinning record for a few more seconds, before slowly placing it down on the vinyl at the desired line. It was almost exactly like when Lori skipped through the songs on the cassette to get to her desired track, on the drive home from Evansville. The vinyl buffered for a moment, but that moment ended when the intro guitar of The Prettiest Star smoothed through the speaker.
She threw her head back in laughter, "Oh my god, this is so predictable, Steve."
"I don't care." he said, turning to her and grabbing her by the hands.
She laughed out loud as he pulled her into him, the guitar melody reverberating through the room, taking her with him as he moved on his feet. She'd never smiled so big in all her life. But there she was, letting him dance her away to their song— with the biggest, goofiest, downright stupidest smile on her face, ever. It lit up the entire room, more than the sunlight. He swayed to the music as his hands found her waist, bringing her close to his bare chest. Her hands found their way to the back of his neck and she smiled that smile up at him— body radiating with happiness. Lori Philbin— happiness? Damn right.
He sang out the first words of the verse, and she couldn't help but laugh even harder at his terrible vocals— and at the memories of the drive flooding back into her mind. She threw her head back and sang the next line of the verse, and he let her have her moment— staring down at her in complete admiration for her beauty. They sang the next lines of the verse together, swaying in the middle of his room to the music in their pajamas, voices loud and off-key. But it didn't matter.
When the chorus rolled in, she pushed herself from his chest and grabbed his hands as she hopped on her feet— belting the words with her eyes closed. He joined in, just like he'd done in the car that day, singing so loud that they could barely even hear the music anymore. She jumped on her feet and danced and swayed, and he followed her movements like a madman, arms flailing and body leaning towards hers. Their voices were loud and off-key against the stillness of the room, but nothing felt better than this. She'd never felt such euphoria in all her life, and he'd never felt so amazingly, disgustingly enthralled by anyone in all his seventeen years of living.
When the chorus ended and the second verse spilled in, he pulled her back into him as his chest heaved in and out unsteadily— pulling her right into his arms. His arms wrapped around her upper back, unable to fight the urge in his bones to just hold her as tight at he could after that. She let him, and her arms found his lower back, squeezing tightly. Her head rose with his chest as he caught his breath from the insane rush of adrenaline, still unable to control her smile. She bit down on her bottom lip, still grinning like a fool.
He ran a steady hand through her hair, and her chest sizzled with that feeling again.
And then it came out so quietly, so faint against his chest. And it wasn't much, but Lori Philbin couldn't fucking refrain from whispering it anyways. "Mon amour," she breathed out, so quiet, so supple and thin.
And although Steve Harrington had absolutely no idea what that meant, he still heard it despite the music, and he still felt it all the way to the very bottom of his stupid, crazy, enamored glass heart.
𝙅𝙐𝙇𝙄
good god
the more i write of loristeve the more emotional i get :,)
tooting my own horn— i'm IN LOVE with the way I captured the beauty and essence of falling for someone/falling in love!!!!!!! i tried my best
to all the french haters— this was the reason!! mon petit amour
virtual hugs 🫶🫶