CHAPTER 028. WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO?
STEVE'S SEEN A LOT OF MESSED UP SHIT IN HIS LIFE.
Far too much shit for a guy his age, if he's being entirely honest. The Demogorgon baring its teeth mere inches from his face while he swung at it with a bat filled with nails, the army of Demo-dogs racing past him and Henderson down in the tunnels while El closed the gate, the look on Nancy's face when she drunkenly called him bullshit back in '84 on Halloween.
He's felt a lot, too. Too much for him to even express. Steve thinks it has to do with how often he thinks more with his heart than with his head. And, sure, in any other circumstance, most people would probably deem this an admirable trait for someone to have. But, being him, living in Hawkins of all places; he knows it's not exactly the best characteristic to have.
Steve doesn't like showing his emotions. Well, okay, he did. Much to his surprise, he was particularly vulnerable with Nancy when they were still together. She was kind and she listened to him whenever he needed to rant about something — which, in comparison to what she'd gone through, meant nothing — and honestly? It felt nice to air out his troubles.
But that turned to shit— kind of like everything else going on in his life.
So, Steve swore to himself never again, and, so far, he's done a damn good job of it. He never lets this guard down long enough to warrant somebody to stare at him and ask, "Are you okay?", 'cause if anybody has to be strong and put on a brave face, it's him. Because if he falls, everyone else will, too, and then they're all as good as dead and every ounce of pain he went through would've been for nothing.
But tonight was different.
Sure, being beaten up is an annual thing Steve's become accustomed to, much to his dismay, but it's never been like this. He's never been locked down in a pit thousands of feet below the ground, threatened and interrogated by Russians and brought to the brink of death just because he and his friends were a little too nosy.
He's never seen anything as horrifying as the Mind Flayer, either. It was one thing to be surrounded by Demo-dogs in the junkyard, to fight with the Demogorgon in the Byer's house, but seeing the bloodied, grotesque monster right before his eyes, watching it wail and moan as fireworks bounced off of its body and exploded, seeing it kill Billy goddamn Hargrove with its tendrils in a blink of an eye.. Steve isn't sure how he can come back from this.
Tonight had such high stakes that even though it was over and he was finally home, Steve couldn't seem to shake that gnawing feeling that was trapped in his chest. It's like there was still a weight lingering, a dark cloud casting over him. How is he supposed to wake up tomorrow morning and see everybody and act like everything's okay again when it clearly goddamn isn't?
Steve debated calling his parents right after he and the rest of the group were pulled out of the burning mall by soldiers after the Mind Flayer died. He just wanted to hear his mother's voice, mostly, even if it would've been her scolding him in a hushed voice for calling her in the dead of night.
But as he watched the relief flood the kids' faces as their parents answered their calls, the way the rest of them looked empathetically panicked when the phone rang for a little too long, he decided against it. He knew better, and Steve didn't want to feel that unnerving sense of embarrassment when his folks inevitably sent him to voicemail instead of answering, like always.
Laurie's parents took the liberty of making sure Steve got home alright after the first responders checked him out enough to their satisfaction. He was glad to meet them, though he did wish it was under better circumstances. Steve could tell that Laurie got her looks mostly from her dad and her kindness from her mom, though, so that was nice.
Her dad actually hugged Steve after their impromptu meeting. He hugged him even though he was a stranger and tearfully thanked him for protecting his daughter, for making sure she made it out of that burning building alive. God, the look on their faces. It's something Steve won't forget. That instant relief mixed with panic and confusion, but above all else, pure happiness to see their kid alive and breathing.
Steve couldn't help but wish that his parents would do the same, that they'd show up miraculously and be by his side in a matter of seconds and not ask so many questions because it didn't matter to them what had happened, only that he made it out. But what was the point, really? In wishing for something that wouldn't happen?
"Dad, please," Laurie had said after her emotional reuniting with her mother and father while Steve was still being checked by one of the first responders. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He doesn't have anybody at home,"
Laurie's mother instinctively walked over to Steve and started to empathetically rub his back as the paramedic checked his pupils. She'd asked where Steve's shock blanket was when she noticed him shivering, smiled briefly when he told her he gave his to her daughter, then demanded he got one, too.
"Where are his folks?" her Dad had asked.
"I don't— I don't know," Laurie had answered. "I don't think he knows,"
Steve's been a latchkey kid for the majority of his life, so it didn't come as a surprise to him when they finally reached the Harrington household that his parents' car was still nowhere to be seen. The last he heard was that they were in Maine.. or, was it Maryland? Regardless, they aren't due home til' the end of July, something about his dad closing in on a really good deal that could end with him getting an even better promotion.
Laurie had accompanied Steve to his door and kissed him goodnight before she reluctantly walked back to her parent's car. She'd offered to stay at his place for the night, but Steve felt bad enough as is having dragged her into this mess. He didn't want her pity, and he didn't want her to leave her family just so she could make sure he didn't feel sad and lonely.
Guys like him aren't supposed to feel lonely. Guys like him aren't supposed to get sad.
So, Steve just promised he'd be fine and watched as Laurie waved him goodbye, and only after he managed to scrounge up the spare key hidden under a rock in the hedges did he hear the Dante's car spring to life and start to drive off.
His home was so empty. Home— if he can even call it that anymore. It was colder than usual, darker. Like his presence being there every day was the only thing stopping it from being haunted by ghosts and growing rotten from the inside out. He should've felt glad to be home, to be safe surrounded by the walls he grew up in, but he didn't, and he hated it.
His muscles were aching and he was exhausted, but Steve couldn't stay home. He just couldn't, not when every time he tried to fall asleep he'd see the Russians and the Mind Flayer behind his eyelids, not when he knew it was just him in the house, not when he knew how easy it is to get into his dad's liquor cabinet.
It took an embarrassingly short amount of time after tossing and turning for Steve to get out of bed, throw on a hoodie, slip on his Nike sneakers, put on his glasses and start walking. It was raining and cold, and, full transparency, Steve didn't know where he wanted to go. Wherever was closest, he figured. A 24-hour diner, a bar that didn't check for ID's.
Steve had no idea how long he walked for. Time felt meaningless now, a suggestion rather than a concrete fact. It was three in the morning, maybe four? All he knew was that after some time, his feet dragged up a driveway and he was suddenly on a somewhat familiar porch, his bruising knuckles knocking on a wooden door in front of him.
His ears were still ringing from the fireworks and the rain trickling down from the tin roof was loud, but Steve could hear the faint sounds of shuffling feet after a minute or two, a flick followed by an illuminating amber peaking through closed blinds, the ricochet of a lock being twisted and the door swinging open.
"Steve?"
Laurie looked just as pretty as she did the last time Steve saw her. She was in a pair of oversized Hawkins High Phys Ed. sweatpants — ones that matched the forest green sweatshirt he was wearing — and a dark grey camisole that left little to the imagination. She must've only just recently showered because her skin looked soft and clean.
Her hair was a little damp and it was thrown up into a messy, half-assed ponytail, but some of her shorter curls framed her face almost too perfectly. Steve would've tucked the strands behind her ears so he could admire her beauty without an obstructed view if he weren't so scared, so vulnerable and lacking any sense of charisma. She smelt faintly of vanilla and something sort of earthy. Some kind of flower, he thought. Rose, maybe? Steve wasn't sure.
Her eyes were a little droopy, too, like him standing before her was the only reason she wasn't collapsing onto the carpeted floor beneath her feet and falling into a coma. She looked more relaxed, Steve noticed, even with the bruise on her cheek that was flaring and getting redder by the hour.
She looked like she finally felt safe being back in her home, her sanctuary. He wondered when he'd get to feel like that, too.
"Hey," was all he managed. Steve couldn't even imagine how pathetic he looked, standing there on her porch at nearly four in the morning, clothing and hair drenched by the rain, face still bruised and lip still busted, eyes heavy with a lack of sleep.
"Hi," Laurie said quietly, blue irides slowly raking up the sight in front of her. She frowned like it was a reflex, something she'd become accustomed to when being in proximity of him. Her eyes grew soft once she met Steve's gaze. "Are you okay?"
No, Steve wanted to say. No, I'm pretty goddamn far from okay. I'm scared and I'm tired and I miss you and it's barely been an hour since I last saw you.
But there was something in his chest, something that pulled and pulled at his lungs and it stole his breath from him and for once in his life, Steve didn't know what he wanted to say. He couldn't seem to find that part of himself, that small voice sat in the back of his head that's been trying to get him to confess how messed up he is to anybody that'll listen.
But it was like Steve's body was trying to protect him from slipping up, or something, almost like him telling Laurie that he isn't the strong and brave guy she fell for would screw things up even more and he'd be left lonely again, trapped in his solitude because why would somebody want someone as broken as he is?
So, all Steve could muster was, "Can I stay over?"
And Laurie let him in.
Laurie's room is much nicer than Steve's. The pastel walls, the floral printed sheets, the faint smell of lemon wafting from a candle she must've burnt not that long ago, the pile of romance novels tucked away in the corner of her room, all with their respective bookmarks.
She has posters of her favorite artists and movies lined up beside her closet doors — Madonna, Grease, Whitney Houston, Sixteen Candles, just to name a few. There are polaroids of her and Robin scattered almost everywhere, too. Some were stuck to her wall with patterned tape, some pinned to the corkboard that hangs just beside the door, some shoved into the frame of her vanity.
She has photos of her and her parents, her and her brother, all smiling and looking actually happy.
What makes Steve jealous the most is the glow-in-the-dark stars that litter her ceiling. There are significant gaps between the constellations, some even still peeling off at the edges. Steve can only guess they've been up since she was in middle school, probably even earlier.
It makes him sad, the fact that they were stuck up there in the first place, that her parents cared enough to put up an otherwise unnoticeable and arguably useless decoration just because she asked them to.
And sure, Steve has a few photos in his bedrooms, picked out his own bedsheets, put up decorations that act as pieces of himself littered around to prove that he actually lives there and calls it home. But her room is unkept in the best kind of way. Everything in Laurie's room just radiates.. her.
A creaking sound Steve snaps from his thoughts. He turns to the source of the noise, Laurie's bedroom door, and the girl smiles at him when she steps inside. It's a little sleepy and lopsided, but it's still beautiful nonetheless.
Steve quickly realises he was still in the middle of pulling on the sweatshirt Laurie gave him as their locked eye contact suddenly breaks, the girl's gaze starting to fall lower and lower. Her eyes move down the expanse of his torso, eyes landing just above the waistband of his sweatpants and lingering on his exposed abdomen.
There are a few bruises there— well, scratch that. There's a shit ton. Ugly, nasty ones he gained from when the Russians interrogated him. Steve doesn't really remember what happened after a certain point, now that he tries to think back, but that's probably a good thing. It's one less thing to have to wake up in a sweat about later.
"Do you need me to get some ice?" Laurie asks as she heads towards him, the door quietly closing behind her.
Steve shakes his head, suddenly rigid and unable to move. "No, it's.. I'm fine,"
Laurie moves closer and closer to Steve, socked feet padding on the carpeted floor. Her hands stretch out in curiosity once she's merely a few inches away from him, eyes glancing up at him like she's asking for permission. Even though Steve hasn't been kissed by the sun in God knows how long, he swears he can still feel the heat from it radiating within him.
Steve doesn't say anything, though, and instead only lets his eyes fall back to her hands. Laurie must take it as a silent yes because her fingers delicately find their purchase on his skin. She's careful, treating him like a fragile piece of glass she's afraid might break if she pushes too hard. It's strange to be treated this way, with such softness.
"Does it hurt?"
Laurie's brows pull together with concern the longer she stares. The bruises look much nastier in this lighting, in her bedroom. Ugly splotches of blue and deep reds and shades of purple next to her soft hands, her pale skin. Steve wonders how long they'll take to heal, and whether Laurie'll still be here when they do.
"Not so much anymore," Steve mutters eventually, finally answering her question, breath caught in his throat. He's nervous, anxious, and his muscles tense beneath her touch as Laurie's fingertips graze the outskirts of his contusions.
She lets out a dissatisfied hum and her hand moves away from his waist. Steve takes that as a sign to finally pull on the sweatshirt she gave him. "Maybe we should take you to a doctor. Make sure you don't have an internal bleed, or something,"
"No," Steve mutters a little too quickly and he wants to pinch himself at how it dejects Laurie. "I'm fine, Laur, really," Steve can tell she doesn't believe him. "Besides, what would we even tell 'em? That I just magically got these bruises from the mall fire?"
"You could tell them the truth," Laurie suggests, half joking, looking up at him with her pretty blue eyes. God must be testing Steve's restraint right now because holy shit, how can he say no to this? To her? "That you protected me and the kids from the super secret Russian spies that infiltrated the mall,"
Steve snorts and averts his gaze. His limbs feel heavy, tired, so he decides to plop himself down on the edge of her bed and start to finally relax. He hopes Laurie didn't catch the small groan that escaped his lips at the discomfort. "I think they'd throw me straight into Pennhurst if I ever said that shit,"
Laurie grins and follows him, stopping just short and standing in front of him. It's honestly embarrassing how quickly Steve is to take hold of her hands, to part his legs and let her stand between them, peering up at her with pure adoration.
"I'd break you out," she comments nonchalantly and it gets another huffed laugh of him. Laurie cracks a smile, "What? By the time I'd get you out, they won't have even realized I was there. I'm super stealthy, you know. Like.. I'm basically a ninja in training,"
Shit. He really, really likes her.
Steve's always been alone one way or another, even when he's been surrounded by the people that cared about him. But Laurie's here, standing in front of him, looking at him like he's the only thing she's ever cared about in her entire life and suddenly he doesn't feel so lonely anymore.
She'd wrapped her arms around his waist while they huddled together under the blanket the paramedics gave him, held the icepack to the side of his head when his arm grew tired, let him squeeze her hand as tightly as he could while the paramedics disinfected his wounds. She let him into her home in the dead of night, soaked and freezing, without an ounce of hesitation, ransacked her wardrobe for fresh and dry clothes for him to wear.
He has no idea what he did to deserve this, her kindness, her warmth.
Although it takes some coaxing from Steve's end, Laurie eventually straddles his lap, her legs on either side of his, her hands carding through the hair that sits on the nape of his neck. Steve could honestly fall asleep like this, he thinks, with Laurie softly playing with his chocolate brown locks.
"So.. did your parents end up answering?" mumbles Laurie, half-distracted as her eyes wander across his face, at all of the cuts and bruises among his freckles and moles.
No, I didn't even call them, Steve wants to say. I knew they wouldn't have picked up even if I tried.
But all that comes out is, "Uh, yeah. They did. But, uh, my mom was pretty beat.. I'll call them again tomorrow when it isn't so late,"
The way Laurie's looking at him makes him feel guilty for lying and it's almost like she knows he's bullshitting. Her eyes are all wistful and big and bright and sad.
"They're not bad people," Steve says almost automatically before Laurie can even open her mouth to speak. He's been conditioned to defend them because who else will when they aren't here? Christ, they're never goddamn here. "They're just— I don't know, they're busy,"
Laurie all but sighs, gaze moving down from his and to his hands on her thighs. She moves her hands from his hair and intertwines them with his in her lap. She starts to run her thumbs over his knuckles, touches over every bump and groove. She stays quiet for a while, fingers gently moving back and forth and Steve can't tell whether her silence makes him nervous or not.
"Too busy that you didn't even bother to call?" Laurie comments before she looks back up at him. Her eyes are all fond — a little sad, sure — and Steve can feel his heartbeat quicken from being caught in his lie. "You aren't that great of a liar, Steve," she adds quietly.
His parents aren't bad people. Once upon a time he even considered them his favourite people in the world. They were attentive, gave him all the toys he wanted and more, read him bedtime stories and looked for the imaginary monsters under his bed.
But he got older, and they got busier, and time just seemed to pull them in opposing directions. Hell, by aged 10 they'd started leaving him ten-dollar bills on the kitchen counter instead of building him a constellation of his own. And, yeah, it makes him sad, but he gets it. Them being busy keeps a roof over his head.
Sure, maybe his dad gets on his ass a little more about college than he'd like and his mom is more worried about her marriage than her kid, but people have it worse. Steve has a nice house, nice clothes and a warm bed. He has food in the fridge and a nice car to drive. He shouldn't complain, not really.
"They aren't bad people," Steve says again, driving his point home even though he can tell Laurie isn't believing him. "They're just.. Look, Laur— it's not as shitty as it sounds,"
He doesn't quite know why he feels the need to defend them so avidly. It's not like they'd have to hear or see the collective disappointment people have when he brings them up, anyways. Maybe it's because there's a small part of him that's still waiting for them to come home and stay, and that they'll actually be a normal, functioning family.
Laurie just frowns. "I'm sorry, Steve,"
"It's okay," he says automatically, not missing a beat. "S'not your fault,"
"I know, but.." Laurie trails off for a moment. "Even if your parents are.." Assholes? Douchebags? Nonexistent? "I just— I want you to know that still have me. You can always talk to me, Steve. About anything. Even if it's.. shitty,"
She's too good for him, he decides.
Steve might honestly start crying. He's never felt so cared for before, and truthfully? It's really, really overwhelming. But he won't, not in front of her, not yet. So, instead, he blinks back the tears he hadn't noticed were forming, forces out a small laugh and murmurs, "You swore again,"
All Laurie can do is sleepily grin at him. "It's becoming a habit,"
Her hair is messy, but not like how it had been for the last 24 hours. It's clean, somehow lighter, but still has that hint of chaos hidden within her weakened curls. Laurie's eyes are so, so blue. Even in the low light of her bedroom, they remind Steve of the ocean, and he would honest to God drown in them if she'd let him.
Steve can't tell who leans in first, but all he knows is that Laurie's hands detangle from his and cup his cheeks while his moves beneath her shirt and onto the small of her back. It's not even necessarily in a sexual way — though, Steve wouldn't say no to that, not in a million years. But he just wants to feel her, the heat of her body against his, the softness of her skin.
After Steve tilts his head upward just a little, Laurie kisses him then and she tastes like toothpaste and home. It's tender and slow, delicate movements despite the burning warmth of desire pooling at Steve's stomach. It doesn't help that Laurie shifts on his lap and Steve lets out an accidental groan at the sensation. His hands tighten on her hips, her waist, and he honestly can't tell where his pulling and her pushing ends.
This gentleness, this kind of vulnerable intimacy is something Steve isn't used to. It's a little scary, a little different, but it's a nice change, albeit one he wasn't exactly ready for, but it's nice. He likes it. He likes her.
Laurie pulls away first. She's still close, though, her forehead not far from his own, her eyelashes just barely brushing against the tips of her cheeks. Her thumb moves along his jawline, a back and forth across his stubble, and Steve finds himself leaning further into her touch.
He doesn't want this to end — whatever this is.
"Maybe we should.. maybe we should head to bed," Laurie says quietly, eyes still fluttered shut like she has little to no energy left to open them. "Try and get some sleep,"
"Yeah," Steve agrees, swallowing harshly, trying his best to regain the breath she'd stolen from him with her kisses, her touch. "We should.. yeah,"
So, the two of them clamber into Laurie's bed, lights switched off, limbs tangled and bodies pressed against one another, and, for the first time in a long time, Steve sleeps through the entire night.
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authors note!
hi.
you're welcome.
WHEN HE SEES ME © austrxlians, 2023.