CHAPTER NINETEEN
XIX. a winter to remember
[ season 2, episode 9 ]
ONE MONTH LATER
Over the course of one month, the atmosphere within the Miller household had changed for the greater good.
Veronica Hayes was home at last. After assisting Eleven in sealing the Gate, she returned to the memories plaguing her past, where she inevitably reunited with Jenny Miller — the woman she had always perceived as her true mother. They were inseparable now, constantly working together to resurface memories that Veronica lost during the experimentations conducted at the laboratory. Of course, Jenny had to be informed of the reasoning behind her step daughter's disappearance, and had spoken to Chief Hopper for hours over the difficult case, learning of Ronnie's special abilities. And the entire Upside Down scenario, adding the most recent events to the harrowing explanation. She swore to secrecy, and there was no doubt in Hopper's mind that the woman would not go against the rules he set in stone.
The absolute shock from the entire ordeal was still radiating across town, though. Newspapers were swamped with news of the Lab's exposure, Barbara Holland's cause of death, and Veronica Hayes's miraculous return home, resolving a missing case that had shaken Hawkins all those years ago. It was nearing Christmas, and the compact population could not stop talking about the cursed town they resided in.
But they were lucky. They hadn't seen the horrors lurking beyond their hindered perception. Stephanie had, and the effects were still dampening to that very day.
On the day of the Snow Ball — something she promised to help Lucia Delgado with dress-wise — Steph awoke at midnight, drenched in sweat, the product of a ghoulish nightmare where she saw a mutilated Bob Newby banging on a glass door, smearing streaks of crimson blood that warped into her name: Stephanie Miller. Veronica must have heard her screaming or something ( maybe sensed the terror groping at her brain ) because she peeked through the door, her brows cinched in concern.
"Another nightmare?" Veronica inquired softly. When Steph nodded in response, the redhead entered the cramped room and closed the door behind her, careful not to wake a sleeping Jenny next door.
She planted herself on the edge of the bed, tugging the thin covers over Steph's exposed figure. She must have accidentally kicked the blankets away whilst desperately thrashing around, trying to escape the ominous images of Bob's mangled corpse, attempting to claw at the guilt burrowing inside the deepest crevices of her brain. His smeared blood twisting to shape her name was a sign — the irrevocable guilt had not yet faded, and probably never would. She was stuck with the burden of surviving when he didn't.
Instinctively, Steph brushed her fingers over the fading wound splayed over her shoulder. There was a scar left in the wake of the Demodog's unforgiving claws, pallid and thick and jagged. Just a harsh reminder of what she went through.
"I didn't wake you, did I?" Steph asked quietly. She felt ashamed by it, sometimes. The nightmares were a figment of her imagination, yet she awakened to the sound of her own screams as if they were real.
Veronica shook her head, "No. I was already awake. Just decided to check on you."
"Well . . . thanks."
"It's okay," Veronica said, conjuring up a warming smile.
Her voice was a great comfort, proving much softer than what Steph imagined the clouds to be. Genuinely, there was not a singular person in the world kinder than her step-cousin — no amount of argument could sway her opinion an alternate direction. For someone who had been an experimentation the first half of her life, and then a wanted criminal hunting corrupted members of society in the outskirts of Illinois for the other half, Veronica's heart had not been tarnished with malicious intent, and nor had her soul. She was good. Selfless. It caused Steph's confusion, because she found it impossible to comprehend Dr Brenner's ill intentions, where he caused deliberate harm to his subjects, most of whom were as innocent and accommodating as Veronica.
Sometimes, Veronica had nightmares, too. Only on the rare occasion, however, if the day was stressful and overbearing. Or if she had used her powers too much. Or if she needed to comfort Steph, and admitting to her horrors was the only way to provide a sense of analogy.
The cousins never spoke about their internal issues outside of Stephanie's room. A line had been wordlessly drawn around that, and they hadn't dared to cross it. Sharing news of someone else's afflictions was a terrible thing to do — though Steph couldn't imagine Veronica ever taking it that one step too far by breaching her personal bubble. She wasn't that type of person. And neither was Stephanie.
"Are you tired?" the redhead queried, shattering the suffocating silence. Stephanie shook her head, still too shaken to mumble a verbal response. She was very awake now. Veronica's expression visibly brightened, and she jerked her head toward the bedroom door, "Come on, then. Let's go for a walk."
Steph's brows furrowed deeply. She chanced a look at the digital clock perched on her bedside table, with blaring white numbers, "It's midnight."
"What does that matter? We won't go far. Promise."
It took quite a bit of convincing to sway Stephanie out of the house, drawing her away from comfort. After approximately ten minutes of bickering — ebbing and flowing between the pair like a round of lapping waves — she finally agreed with heavy reluctance, ensuring they were as quiet as possible when stumbling blindly out into the darkness, careful not to wake Aunt Jenny — who would no doubt blow a fuse at the prospect of the adolescents leaving home at such an ungodly hour.
Above, the stars were flaming like embers drawn from a smoking inferno, floating in the sky and shimmering through the impeccably thick wall of obsidian. Constellations mingled and formed cryptic shapes, representing different configurations to every pair of eyes gazing upon the rotating hemisphere tonight.
Veronica silently walked across the bijou garden, approaching the painted picket-fence encircling the microscopic home. She slid a gnarled slab of wood aside, and gestured for Steph to pass through, into a vast ocean of darkness. An escape route, it seemed. And not a new one, instead inexplicably old. The wood was splintered along every crevice from overuse, and creaked loud enough to startle a bird twittering in the spindly trees towering high above the lawn.
"What's this?" Steph whispered.
"Just wait and see." Veronica answered mysteriously.
Steph's eyes clung to the darkness, trying to decrypt the sinewy shapes coalescing with the shadows. Trees. Elongated trees that bristled with wildlife — nesting birds and chirruping bugs. She hesitantly followed along behind Veronica, eyes struggling to adjust to the twilight, until they eventually stumbled upon a wide clearing, the earth beneath their feet smoothing out to a flat surface, scattered with pebbles and stray limbs that had fallen from the overhead trees.
A beam of light stretched across the clearing. Veronica had a flashlight. She wedged it into the dirt, creating a mound around the object to hold it in place. She smiled triumphantly when the flashlight stood obediently, unwavering, and successfully illuminated the unblemished forest glade.
"It's nice, right?" Veronica said. She gestured around, pointing at the formation of trees surrounding the area. As if on queue, a gust of wind billowed into the clearing, and a bird chirped melodically. "Peaceful. I like to come here sometimes, when I can't sleep or the house is too loud."
"Yeah. . ." Steph didn't know how to disguise her disappointment. She masked it with a smile, despite internally wishing Veronica could have taken her somewhere with the radiating warmth of heating, alongside a significantly smaller risk of crawling insects. There was nothing remotely special about it; there were forests in almost every part of Hawkins. "It's nice."
Veronica quirked a brow, expression laced with indistinct amusement, "I know how it looks. You don't have to lie, Stephy."
Stephy. That was a nickname Veronica had created during her month-long stay at the Miller household. A month did not sound like a long time, but it certainly felt it — a month was no different to a year in Steph's opinion. She and Veronica had barely spent any time apart in the space of four weeks, healing old wounds and coming to truly know one another, considering the title family. Veronica's company never once came to be overwhelming, though oftentimes it had a demanding quality that had Steph craving air and space.
Don't fault her, however — she was very fond of the nickname. It made her feel especially adored. Like a kid again.
"I haven't shown you the best part, yet," Veronica said eagerly. She plonked down on the ground, settling herself between a littering of brambles and miniature rocks. Steph followed suit, drawing the stiffened zip up on her leather jacket as the temperature plummeted to borderline freezing.
Veronica held out her hand. Her gaze unfocused, and the flashlight began to flicker erratically, emitting a humming noise that reverberated in the chilling silence of the dawning night.
The first shard — like a bolt of lightning — surged upward, glinting in the moonlight, fading to nothing just below the canopy of trees. A second followed, and then a third, leaping away from the bulb wedged into the flashlight in a bundle of jagged rays, as if a ravaging storm had stirred a sky-full of electronic energy. The pattern of detached light mirrored the constellations above, until the clearing was teeming with a willowy glow, incandescent and lambent — as if the sun's radiance was saturated solely in that particular forest glade.
Steph's mouth fell agape as she stared at the constellations that had been seemingly plucked directly from the sky, hovering close enough to touch, "Woah . . ."
A steady steam of blood flowed from Veronica's nostril, and she slowly pulled her hand away from the regenerated flashlight, wiping away the crimson remnants with the edge of her sleeve. She stared at the star-flecked clearing, the power continuing to pour from her body and surge into the air.
Steph laughed deliriously, grazing her fingers over the peppered light. It tingled beneath her fingertips — an electrifying sensation.
"See?" Veronica probed. Her emerald eyes remained trained on the drooping constellations, willing them to stay put despite the blooming ache beginning to pulsate in her brain. "I'm full of surprises."
"You don't say!" Steph exclaimed. She had never felt quite so excited over astronomy until that very moment, physically able to reach out and touch it. "How?"
"There's always a lot of energy at night," Veronica informed. "Streetlights, night-lamps, more than you'd expect. But the stars — they're enormous balls of flaming energy, hanging right above us. I always feel the most powerful when the sun sets. And I've grown to see the stars as my friends, in a sense. They're always here, despite it all."
"Did they help you, in Illinois?" Steph asked, unable to smother the curiosity that lingered in the wake of Veronica's mellow words.
She nodded tenderly, "Yes. It was my sister, Kali, who taught me to look at them. When I was feeling afraid, or sad, the stars would always be there in times she could not. They comforted me, and eventually I learned how to replicate them with my abilities, so that we could be closer — like now."
Veronica nodded toward the gleaming array of stars, prickling beneath the canopy of trees. There was a melancholy hint in her expression at the mention of Kali, and her lower lip wobbled, though tears did not spring to her eyes. Instead, a soft and nostalgic smile bloomed in the place of sorrow, and the throbbing shards of light began to fade.
"Thank you," Steph said, her voice a soothing whisper that coiled into the night like a translucent wisp of smoke. "for showing me something so personal. I think the stars can be a comfort to me, too — if I look hard enough."
Veronica's smile grew, "They don't have to be. Everyone finds solace in different ways. You just have to discover what it is first."
Discover what it is.
Somehow, Steph was almost certain she had already discovered her means of consolation, the thing that brought her reassurance in troubling times. The stars that poured a light onto Veronica's life, obscuring the darkness within and warping it into something beautiful, was her solace. But Steph . . . Steph couldn't admire the stars in the same way Veronica did.
The thing she found comfort in wasn't an object, or a figment of astronomy, or a memory teeming with joy.
It was an amalgamation of moments — or rather a person, simply put.
Fingers intertwining, locking gazes in brazen storms and dark forests, embracing in the murky shadow of encroaching Death, battling monsters side by side, leading vulnerable children to an eternal safety . . . these were all moments that reduced Veronica's stars to meaningless pits in the sky. It was these particular junctures that filled Steph with warmth, soothed the wounds and the nightmares and the horror still steeping inside.
And it was Steve Harrington — bold and fearless and insufferably good — who filled that gaping void in Stephanie's charcoal heart.
The sobering truth quickly unveiled, illuminated by the fading constellations and Veronica's resolute words, was that Steph had already unknowingly discovered that solace her step-cousin mentioned — already sought it out. And it wasn't the stars she was seeking, not even the sun and the moon. Steph didn't need them.
It all came crashing down then, like a thundering meteor shower. The realisation, the truth universally acknowledged. Stephanie needed Steve.
She had sought out her solace, and that solace was him.
✧.｡. *.
"Alright. Chin up, big smile, you're going to swoop every guy in there off their feet."
Lucia huffed in response to Stephanie's assuring words, shuffling over the backseat of Steve Harrington's sumptuous car. Her dress was ruffled, a soft periwinkle-blue that stopped short just below her knees. Adorning the formal outfit were a pair of white converse ( because you could never be too comfortable ) and a silver hair-piece that Steph had used to clip up Lucia's stubborn raven-tresses, swooping along the side of her head like a waterfall. And, of course, Steph had also been in charge of the makeup-department, leaving Lucia with glistening eye-lids paired with flecks of emboldened liner.
Scowling, she tugged at the stubborn ruffles, unaccustomed to wearing such a lavish and high demanding outfit. Lucia was usually clad in jeans and oversized t-shirts — never dresses.
"You look great, Lucia." Steve reassured from the driver's seat, arching around the chair so he could discern the middle schooler better. "Trust me."
"Not trusting you." Lucia argued, flashing Steve a saccharine grin. She readjusted the silver clip wedged into her raven locks, groaning acrimoniously when more hair slid from its hold and collapsed over her shoulders. "This is just — I look like a Barbie doll!"
"Isn't that a good thing?" Dustin inquired from the passenger seat. His convoluted hair had been combed into a style — uncharacteristic for him in particular — that was rather resemblant to Steve's. "Most girls try to look like Barbies, right?"
Lucia scoffed, "Yeah, only the egocentric ones, like Stacey Albright. I'd rather be comfortable, and this is not comfortable."
"It's only for a few hours." Steph reminded. "Quit whining, you're gonna have a great time."
"Whatever."
Steve narrowed his eyes and pointed a warning finger in Lucia's direction. His voice was soft despite the small scolding he dished out, "Hey, what did I say about your tone? Keep it in check, alright?"
"Yes, Mom." Lucia retorted sardonically, pressing her fingers into a mock salute. Dustin snorted in amusement, but feigned ignorance when both Steve and Stephanie glanced his way, humming an upbeat tune beneath his breath.
Steph rolled her eyes and gazed out of the window, where she spotted a distinctive mane of red hair. Max Mayfield. She had been smarter in the outfit department, clad in a pair of rose-pink jeans and a knitted sweater, rather than opting for an irritating dress simply for the sake of formality.
"Look, there's Max." Steph pointed the scowling girl out, a unique entity amongst a mass of attendees, all donning similar clothing. "I think she's waiting for you."
Lucia flushed.
She raced to open the door, burning cheeks shrouded by her mess of hair, and uttered a rush of goodbyes as she slid from the vehicle and onto the pavement. Steve and Dustin exchanged a confused glance at the unprecedented vigour, but Steph only smiled. She knew. She had known for a while now, but chose to remain uncharacteristically quiet on the matter. They were only kids after all. They had plenty of time to work out their feelings toward one another on their own. And they would. Come on — anyone who wasn't blind could see the adoration twinkling in Max's mischievous eyes, and the fiery red shadow blooming in Lucia's cheeks.
It was like . . . well, it was a little like Stephanie and Steve, contrary to popular belief. The slight awkwardness, the ignorance, the sudden and overwhelming surge of understanding. Although, Steph and Steve were nearing adulthood and could still not bear to face the repercussions of their true feelings. If they were even real feelings at all.
Who knew if they ever would? Admit to it, that is.
Steph expelled a sharp sigh and slammed a hand against Dustin's shoulder, craning around the backseat, "You ready, Henderson?"
"I was born ready, lady." the boy retorted, though his shaky tone deceived his 'unwavering' confidence a little.
"Hey, you're gonna go in there," Steve began assuringly, "look like a million bucks, and you're gonna slay em' dead."
"Like a lion."
Dustin rolled his tongue in chorus, a strange noise vibrating through his teeth. It sounded like Chewbacca, but demented. Of perhaps an ecstatic seal? Whatever it was, the silence that followed afterward was suffocating, and Dustin's face fell in disappointment.
Steve's expression instinctively twisted into a mild grimace, but he eradicated any sign of wariness with a fake smile. "Don't do that, okay?"
"Okay."
For a moment, Stephanie reminisced in her and Steve's conversation in the car — this exact car — after Tina's bummer Halloween party a few months back. She remembered Steve's horrible attempt at a fake smile. But this one was good. Better. Convincing. He had been practicing, it seemed. That revelation brought a slight smile to Steph's face, the corner of her mouth arching upward until her peony lips pulled into a taut line, like a cord, and she could no longer fight the expression away.
In the front seat, Steve held his hand out for Dustin and said, "Good luck."
The Henderson quickly shook Steve's hand, the nerves truly beginning to show now, unravelling like rope across his pallid complexion. He inhaled deeply, dropped Steve's hand, and unclasped the cold-metal door handle. There was silence as Dustin slunk out into the night, making a nervous habit of smoothing the creases in his suit, all while holding his head as high as possible to feign courage.
With the hairstyle and the confident strides, Dustin was beginning to look more and more alike to his idol, Steve Harrington. And, honestly, it wasn't a bad thing.
Steph clambered over the backseats and dropped her backside into the passenger chair, grinning at Dustin's retreating figure through the window. Her gaze involuntarily wandered to Nancy Wheeler, who was standing inside, perched just behind the double doors. Through the elongated glass panes, Steph could discern her formal attire, the grin pinned to her angelic face. Nancy looked beautiful — radiating sophistication and etiquette, alongside a sense of unyielding independence and conviction.
It was no wonder that Steve had been so infatuated with Nancy. He watched the brunette meander around the entrance for another second. Then, he turned to face Stephanie, with a little less sadness in his eyes than she had anticipated.
"What are you doing tonight?"
Steph had blurted the question without thinking through the consequences. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as the Sahara desert, eyes flaring wide and boring into Steve's, which had swollen just as large. Dark chocolate with flecks of forest green, distending toward his pupils like trees withstanding a torrential storm.
It took a prolonged moment, but finally Steve shook his head in response. He raked a hand through his auburn tresses, blowing out a sharp breath. "Uh — not much. My parents are away, as usual, doing some conference shit in New York or whatever. Got the whole house to myself . . . lucky me, right?"
"It's Christmas in ten days." Steph reminded briskly. "Will they be back for then?"
A shrug. That slight movement provoked an unrooted anger fizzling deep inside, sinking down to the bottom pits of Steph's stomach like an anchor. The nonchalance of Steve's gesture showed just how little his parents cared about him, driving Steve to grow utterly careless over their existence, too. Don't know don't care, the shrug had said. Probably on my own again, at Christmas.
"Steve —"
"It's fine. I'm used to it, alright?"
He switched on the ignition, and pulled out of the middle school school parking lot. The duo sat in silence, broken only by the lapping sounds of the car's engine. Steph gnawed on her thumbnail, the passing streetlights reflecting in her downcast eyes like shimmering pools of moonlight.
She turned her gaze to Steve. "Why don't you come to my Aunt's place tonight? You know, she's making her infamous Apple Strudel, and Veronica really wants to meet you. Properly, at least."
"Veronica wants to meet me?" Steve questioned, sounding almost incredulous.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Steph shrugged light-heartedly in response to that, a smirk replacing the apprehensive expression that had been staining her honed features, "Guess it's because I never stop talking about you, Harrington. She wants to see what all the fuss is about."
Steve rolled his eyes, though a wry smirk had begun to tug at his lips, too. Any thoughts about his waste-of-space parents had dissipated. Only Steph remained. "Ah, so you want me to meet the family? This is a big stretch, Miller. All this time, I thought we were enemies."
"Hm," she hummed, tapping her chin absentmindedly. "Frenemies. You're okay sometimes, I have to admit."
"Yeah, yeah," Steve mumbled. He waved his hand around, placing the other against the steering wheel to keep the vehicle adjacent with the narrowing road lines. He tore his eyes away from the encroaching street momentarily, glancing across at Stephanie, an answer swimming in his gaze. "I'll come. Can't back down to an offering of Jenny Miller's Apple Strudel."
"That's if Veronica hasn't eaten it all already." Steph scoffed.
A cavity had been restored in her chest. Brimming with nervous excitement, a thrill running through her veins like icy water. Christmas was the best time of year, surrounded by the people she loved the most, and now Steve Harrington had agreed to join in with their annual festivities. She trusted him enough to offer an invitation — liked him enough to feel joy over his acceptance.
When they arrived at the Miller household, situated at the end of a dilapidated cul-de-sac, Veronica greeted Steve with a warm welcome and a few inquisitive questions, most of which revolved around his lifestyle. She found non-supernatural people curious, mostly due to the fact she had spent her entire life with Kali — another supernatural entity — and the plethora of laboratory residents long before that. It was all new to her. Normality. Although, she was becoming habituated to it rather quickly.
"Who's this?" Aunt Jenny asked, wiping her dripping hands on a tea cloth. She leaned against the kitchen counter, scrutinising Steve with narrowed, pensive eyes. Her poker-straight blonde hair was pinned up into a bun, eliciting a much harsher impression of intimidation.
"This is Steve Harrington. He picks me up for school sometimes." Stephanie replied cooly, which seemed to trouble her Aunt with a distorted sense of familiarity. "He also helped with the whole inter-dimensional thing that Hopper told you about."
"Ah!" Aunt Jenny clicked her fingers together, the judgmental scowl slowly melting from her face, a warmer expression succeeding the internal animosity she held for strangers waltzing into her humble abode. "Nancy's boyfriend?"
"Uh — well, ex-boyfriend." Steve corrected nervously.
Jenny pressed her pale lips into a thin line, attempting a show of sympathy, "Sorry to hear that. She's a lovely girl."
"Her manners are impeccable." Veronica chimed in, using one of the new words she discovered this morning during her dictionary-dive. Her eyes flickered between Stephanie and Steve, attempting to discern the awkwardness radiating from them both. "Are you staying for dinner, Steve?"
The boy swallowed, immediately averting his gaze to Steph, desperately seeking an answer. Much to his relief, the blonde nodded and responded with a simple, "He is. If that's okay?"
Jenny nodded, "Absolutely. I made an extra batch of Apple Strudel by mistake — damn recipe tricked me — so there's plenty to go around."
"I really appreciate it, Ms Miller." Steve murmured gratefully, knitting his fingers together. Nervous habit. "Thank you."
"It's no problem at all, Steve," Jenny countered, smiling sweetly. Then, she grabbed the wooden spoon from the counter and began mixing the mashed potatoes, refusing to be distracted from the task at hand for too long. Dinner for four. An extra batch was certainly in order. "Steph, why don't you show Steve around the house? Dinner won't be ready for another ten minutes. Cure your boredom."
Steph nodded, "Alright."
"Don't have too much fun." Veronica added with a knowing wink, which scored a rude gesture from her step-cousin.
Veronica hadn't only heard stories about the infamous duo, but was enlightened on the lingering feelings Stephanie acquired during the time she and Steve spent together, defeating Demodogs and babysitting a bunch of mischievous children. It hadn't been an anticipated turn of events, and Steph wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to admit to them, divulging in the churning wheel of deep emotions and attraction. Who knew if Steve felt the same way, all these months later?
With her middle finger still extended toward a smirking Veronica, Steph disappeared down the narrow hallway with Steve trudging along in tow. The other rooms weren't at all interesting, so Steph ultimately chose her own private space as their designated spot for the next ten minutes. She nudged open the door with the curved tip of her combat boot, and gestured to the cramped space inside, allowing Steve entry to her room.
"Yep," he said, sitting on the edge of the unmade bed. "This is exactly how I imagined your room to be."
"What, messy?"
"No. Distinctly you."
He was eyeing the Queen, Metallica, and Tears for Fears posters splashed along the farthest wall, which was painted an ordinary egg-shell white colour. Beneath it was a cluttered desk, brimming with meaningless artefacts — notebooks, hair-clips, makeup, incense sticks, a packet of cigarettes, and a mound of crystals scintillating in the titian glow gushing from the lamp-light. Amongst the mess was a record player, a jarred stack of records piled up next to it.
Steph folded her arms. "Should I play some music? Might distract you from this absolute bomb-site that unfortunately happens to be my room."
"It's not a bomb-site," Steve argued adamantly, smoothing the crinkled, patterned tapestry hanging from the wall behind the bed. "It has character, you know? My room's a whole load of boring — four walls and a roof. This is —"
"Do you want me to play music or not?" Steph interjected impatiently.
At the unexpected interruption, Steve faltered. She didn't want to talk about her room, it appeared; her reluctance was apparent. So, he cleared his throat and nodded, "Yeah, sure. Sorry."
"It's okay," she assured. Delicately, she slotted a record into the player, and brought the needle down against the wiry CD.
There was a sharp crackle, a short moment of hesitation, and then Queen's Another One Bites The Dust began to stream through the speakers, flooding into the compact room like a dam had been shattered, allowing for a ravine to stream into open space ceaselessly. Steph bobbed her head along in time with the upbeat song, pretending to strum the cords of an air-bass-guitar. She didn't notice Steve's eyes watching her every move, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth.
"Good choice," he stated, looking around the room once again. It was submerged in a faint red-light, pouring out from the incandescent lava-lamp perched on the bedside cabinet. "Nothing beats Queen."
"Obviously," Steph retorted matter-of-factly. She situated herself on the other side of the bed, curling both legs up beneath herself. With a jovial grin, she gestured across at the whirring record player, "This is my favourite song. Of all time."
"Really?"
She nodded vigorously. "Mhm. What's yours?"
"Dancing in the Dark," Steve answered, without an inkling of uncertainty. He drummed his fingers in the air, matching the thrumming beat of Another One Bites The Dust. "It's by Bruce Springsteen, if you didn't know."
A sudden gasp. Steve started, while Stephanie merely flicked her finger out in the Harrington's direction, appearing to be entranced by her own internal convictions, "That's fitting, actually."
She sprang away from the bed and began to flick through the stack of jumbled records wobbling precariously atop the desk. A low humming noise reverberated in her throat as she tossed aside the CDs she apparently didn't need. Then, another gasp slithered up her throat. Steph procured a record from the pile and ran back toward the bed, flopping down onto her stomach directly beside Steve; their shoulders connected like wind-chimes, igniting warmth in their chests. She was more excited than Steve had ever seen her — it was an almost unnatural emotion.
Wedged in her hand — the unopened plastic casing gleaming beneath the overhead light — was Bruce Springsteen's newest record. Steve's eyes widened, and he slowly pried the record from her dainty fingers, running his hand along the emboldened lettering that read Born In The U.S.A.
"Where in God's name did you get this? I've been looking everywhere for it. It's always sold out." Steve whispered incredulously. He was in awe.
"My Aunt bought it when the album was first released. She thought I'd like it, but I don't."
"What?"
She raised her hands in mock surrender, propping her chin atop her clasped hands, which were clad in a plethora of signet and sterling silver rings, "Don't fault my taste. Springsteen just doesn't do it for me."
"That's a crime worthy of jail time, Miller." Steve huffed in disbelief.
"Whatever. Here's the deal . . ." Steph pressed the record more firmly into his hands, the corner snagging against Steve's thumb. He seemed to realise what she was doing rather quickly, soon gathering what the gesture meant, and his eyes widened in disbelief. She spoke his thoughts aloud, "I'm giving it to you. It's yours. Consider it an early Christmas present."
Steve grinned, but still remained rather hesitant to take the record and claim it as his own. "You're serious?"
"As a heart attack."
"Oh, man," Steve held the record at arm's length, thoroughly admiring it, the grin plastered to his face only growing larger and larger — like the crescent moon, gleaming just as bright — until the seconds stretched to minutes. "I really appreciate this. Like, a lot."
Steph shrugged nonchalantly, "Well, it's better than nothing. I'm terrible at buying people gifts, so this'll have to do."
"Steph, it may look like a flimsy record to you—" Steve started, finally placing the Bruce Springsteen CD down. The reluctance to do so was evident by the ghosting touch of his fingertips grazing against the casing, "—but it's worth a million bucks to me."
"Why don't you play it?" Steph implored, gesturing to the record player. Her chosen song was beginning to fade into silence, and the room felt strikingly bare without an uplifting tune to pervade it. "Your favourite song. Put it on."
Steve slotted the record into the whirring machine instantaneously. The jovial melody thrummed through the speakers, ebbing into the confined space. He sunk back down against the bed, humming as he pressed his back to the headboard. Stephanie retook her position beside him, and propped open a fairly worn notepad, scribbling down the name of the song beneath a long list called to-listen.
"There's something I want to give you, actually, now that we're on the topic of gifts," Steve blurted without warning, scratching the base of his forehead awkwardly. Another nervous habit. He reached into the pocket of his cerulean bomber-jacket, pulling out a small box that Steph quickly identified as a jewellery-hold. "I saw it in town and I just — I bought it. For you."
"What is it?"
Wordlessly, Steve outstretched his arm, suspending the box above Stephanie's curled fist. She relaxed and unfurled her fingers. The box immediately plummeted down, landing on her palm. She found herself feeling rather nervous to open it, apprehensive to discern the mysterious contents within.
But she managed.
Her fingernail toyed with the stubborn clasp until it finally clicked open. The lid fell away, flopping to the other side of the box, and revealed a silver chain bundled inside, resting against a minuscule cushion of black-velvet. Clinging to the bottom of the chain was a beautiful pendant that resembled a bunch of flowers sprouting from a vase, carved from glimmering sterling-silver.
"Fake it flowers." Steph said in recognition, though her voice came out as a whisper and she wasn't entirely sure whether Steve heard her or not. But the necklace was truly captivating, the sleek silver chain and the pendant — she hadn't been expecting anything in return, so it was a pleasant surprise to receive such a generous gift.
Steve cleared his throat, bringing the attention to himself, "I saw it and — uh — I thought of you. It's not much, but my thought was that if you've constantly got a bunch of fake flowers with you, then . . . you know, maybe you won't have to keep pretending."
"Steve . . ." Stephanie attempted to string a sentence together, but it was to no avail. This had truly tugged at her heart strings, unyielding and unwavering.
He remembered. He cared. He made an effort.
"It's corny, I know." Steve blabbed, shaking his head as if to shake his encaged thoughts loose. "I should've just bought you a poster or something."
"No, no," Steph interjected. Her icy-cold exterior had melted considerably, and she approached Steve with an atypical softness, splaying her hand over his own. "I love it. Thank you."
And then she kissed his cheek, and Steve could've sworn he melted right there on the spot.
Her words came next. Affable and sleeker than a sharpened knife, seeping right down to the bone. Stephanie's enchantments were inescapable. Truly inescapable. Her magnetism was like a curse, unrelenting. "Can you put it on for me?"
Flustered, Steve began to stutter over his own words in a race to reply, "Yeah. Sure. Obviously."
She passed him the necklace — handling it carefully so as not to damage it or tangle the fragile chain — and his fingers coiled around it gingerly. He swept her bleach-blonde tresses aside, fingertips grazing her pallid flesh, and reached his hands around her shoulders. Then, Steve looped the chain around her neck and, with utmost concentration, hooked the clasp together. The pedant dropped like an anchor from her neck and hung gracefully between her collarbones. It was cold against her skin, although nothing compared to the glacial sensation that Steve's touch had left in it's wake. She longed for more.
With a sigh, Steph whirled back around. Steve hadn't shifted. Hadn't moved. And now, as a result of that, their faces were mere inches apart, breaths mingling in the air that had grown thick with a familiar blanket of tension. Often avoided, it was now being frolicked with. Provoked. The longer they stayed like this — frozen and incomprehensible to the swiftness of this unfolding interaction — the thicker the tension grew. Suffocating.
Suffocating. Steve tucked a strand of frazzled hair behind Stephanie's ear. His finger brushed her chin, eyes swirling with an inferno of desire.
Steph needed to breathe.
Breathe.
A reverberating knock on the door caused the pair to spring apart, as if forced by telekinetic force. They realised what position they had been in, and it all came crashing down now, raining like stars around them.
In the moment of panic, Steve had thumped his elbow on the nightstand, and was now hissing profanities beneath his breath. Meanwhile Steph hastily dashed toward the door, wanting to be as far from the sweltering heat of the situation as possible.
On the other side of the doorway stood Veronica. She immediately noticed the pink flush blooming in Steph's cheeks, and initially assumed the most drastic.
"Stephanie Miller —"
"Don't even start, Ronnie. Nothing happened, it's just warm in my room, okay." the blonde argued adamantly, though the blush in her cheeks deepened to an almost crimson-red. Her own body betrayed her. Judas.
"I wonder why it's hot —"
"Ronnie!" Steph hissed. She shoved her step-cousin back lightly, into the shadows looming along the hallway, "Please don't. We're friends. It's not like that."
A lie. Such a lie, it was almost laughable.
Unconvinced, Veronica rolled her emerald eyes, smirking in the most vexing of ways. But she relented, thankfully, and opted to discuss the thing that had brought her to Stephanie's door in the first place, "Fine. Dinner's ready. Jenny made extra for Steve."
"Did someone say Steve?" came the voice of the boy in question. He completely avoided Stephanie's gaze to reduce the radiating awkwardness, and smiled at Veronica, who returned it with a mischievous glint in her eye.
"I did. Dinner's ready." Ronnie said.
At that, Steve's stomach rumbled as if on cue. The trio simultaneously wandered into the kitchen, taking their seats around the folding dining table. Jenny had already placed the steaming plates of food down — a chicken roast — and had claimed the chair at the forefront of the table, igniting the flickering candles settled in the middle of the elongated table. The ambience was warmer than a summer's evening.
It didn't take long for them to indulge in the feast. Aunt Jenny had bought a box of Christmas Crackers for the occasion — a special treat to mark the prosperous ten days before the holiday celebrations were due to commence. Stephanie and Steve pulled a cracker together, and placed the withering crowns on their heads, laughing over the absolutely awful joke scrawled along the paper.
What do reindeer's hang on their Christmas trees? Horn-aments!
Much to their surprise, Veronica found the joke to be highly amusing, and demanded they all open more. Soon enough, the once-sophisticated table was reduced to a chaotic mess, covered in bunting and ripped paper-crowns, cracker jokes that Veronica folded up as a keepsake but discarded for funnier ones, and droplets of orange juice from a spilled glass that Steve accidentally knocked over during his laughing fit after hearing one of Jenny's infamous stories — of a time a coworker ran into a glass-door by mistake and had to be rushed to the ER.
Truth be told, having dinner with the Miller's happened to be the most fun Steve had had for a long time. He almost forgot about the most prominent troubles that had been weighing him down for a while — his shitty excuse for parents, school, the turmoil that was Nancy Wheeler, the aftermath of the Demodogs, and Stephanie Miller.
But Steph wasn't really troubling him. Not really. She was a puzzle Steve had been trying to figure out, for a while now, rather than an insolvable issue grating on him. And had he solved this puzzle? No. Although, it didn't seem to matter to him anymore — slotting the pieces together to make a solidified and perfect picture.
Steve Harrington happened to like the disarray. He liked the chaos. He liked the different. He liked that she wasn't Nancy Wheeler. Truly, he did.
And the joy he felt in that moment almost made him forget that the puzzle was slowly breaking. Stephanie was leaving Hawkins in three months, travelling back to her forever home in Atlanta City. He almost forgot.
But nothing could make Steve forget the chances he missed. The opportunities he allowed to float by. Because away Stephanie Miller would go, and with her went his heart. Holding onto the last fragments of the scattered jigsaw was his last hope, but even that was not enough. They were out of touch.
It was a winter Steve would always remember. The one before everything turned sour.
Before the little dark age truly commenced.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
and that's a wrap on season
two. SEASON THREE TIME!
guys im so excited you don't
understand. i have a lot planned
for it, developing characters
and plot lines. also romance?
that's gonna be prominent
let me tell you.
also, i know i didn't write
the snowball scene with
potential max and lucia
stuff but i did it for a
reason! it ties in with
their season 3 story.
onto the next! thanks for reading
<33