𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷: 𝓜𝓲𝔁𝓽𝓪𝓹𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝔀𝓮𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮
🧇🔦🚲📺
The golden rays of the late afternoon sun streamed through Steve Harrington's bedroom blinds, casting long, uneven shadows across the walls. Ana sat cross-legged on the bed, her notebook balanced on her lap and her pen twirling between her fingers. The room was surprisingly tidy for a teenage boy—books stacked neatly on a desk, a few trophies lined up on a shelf, and a faint scent of cologne lingering in the air. It was their usual spot for tutoring sessions, a weekly ritual born from Steve's urgent need to pull up his grades and Ana's knack for explaining things in ways that actually made sense.
Still, today felt different. Ana was distracted, her mind swirling with thoughts she hadn't quite sorted through yet. She had spent the better part of the last few days replaying a conversation she'd had with Joyce Byers—a conversation that had left her questioning everything.
"It's kind of wonderful, isn't it? Feeling that connection with someone? It sounds like you've got a crush, Ana."
The words had startled her then, and they still did now. A crush? On Steve? It seemed absurd. Sure, he was funny, charming, and undeniably attractive, but he was also Steve Harrington—the quintessential high school heartthrob. He was miles out of her league, and besides, he had a girlfriend. That tiny, inconvenient fact kept Ana's feet firmly planted on the ground, even as her heart seemed determined to float away whenever he was around.
"Earth to Ana," Steve's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her back to reality.
She blinked and looked up to find him sprawled out at the edge of the bed, his history textbook open in front of him. He was leaning on his elbows, his brown eyes full of amusement as he smirked at her. The pair had broadened their study session into different subjects as Steve noticed there were some subjects he was ok at but could be better and Ana was more than happy to help
"You good?" he asked. "You've been staring at that page for like five minutes."
Ana felt her cheeks heat up. "Yeah, sorry. I was just... thinking."
"Thinking about history?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Or something more exciting?"
"History," she replied quickly, though the lie felt obvious even to her. To deflect, she tapped his textbook with the end of her pen. "Speaking of, you were supposed to read the next chapter."
Steve groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back. "Can't we just skip to the part where you tell me everything I need to know? You're way better at this stuff."
"That's not how learning works," Ana said, smiling despite herself. "You have to put in some effort."
Steve rolled his eyes but sat up, flipping through the pages. "Fine. But if I fail this test, it's on you."
Ana chuckled softly, the sound blending with the quiet rustle of papers. As he skimmed the chapter, she found herself watching him—his furrowed brow, the way his lips moved slightly as he read. There was something about the way he carried himself that was so... magnetic. It wasn't just his looks, though those were undeniable. It was his warmth, his ability to make anyone feel seen, even in moments like this.
"It's a crush," Joyce's voice echoed in her mind again. Ana shook her head slightly, trying to banish the thought. It was a silly idea. She barely even allowed herself to entertain it. But the flicker of hope that came with it—that maybe, just maybe, there could be more—was harder to ignore.
Steve's voice broke the silence again. "Okay, seriously, can we take a break? My brain's about to fry."
Ana laughed. "We've only been at this for twenty minutes."
"Exactly. That's twenty minutes too long." He closed the book with a definitive thud and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. "What do normal people do during breaks? Watch TV? Eat snacks?"
"Normal people don't need breaks after twenty minutes of studying," Ana teased, but she reached for her bag anyway. As she rummaged through it, her Walkman tumbled out, landing on the bed with a soft thud.
Steve's eyes lit up. "Whoa, is that a Walkman?"
Ana hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Yeah."
"That's awesome! What's on it?" He picked it up, examining it like it was some kind of treasure.
"It's just a mix tape I made," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Nothing special."
"Are you kidding? Mix tapes are the best," Steve said, already fiddling with the buttons. "Can I play it?"
Ana hesitated again. Sharing her music felt personal, like revealing a piece of herself she usually kept hidden. But Steve's enthusiasm was contagious, and before she could second-guess herself, she nodded. "Okay. Sure."
He grinned and slid the cassette into the player, pressing play. The room filled with the soft, haunting chords of "Every Breath You Take" by The Police. Steve leaned back, nodding along to the beat as the song unfolded.
"This is a classic," he said, glancing at her with approval. "Good choice."
Ana smiled shyly. "Thanks. It's... one of my favorites."
"Why?" he asked, his tone curious but gentle.
She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, searching for the right words. "I guess... it's the kind of song that makes me think about what love should be like. Not in a weird, obsessive way, but like... wanting to always be there for someone. To notice them. To care."
Steve looked at her for a moment, his expression softening. "That's... actually really nice."
"Thanks," she murmured, her cheeks warming under his gaze.
The next track began, and Steve's demeanor shifted instantly. "Wait, is this 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go'?"
Ana nodded, smiling despite herself. "Yeah."
"This song's amazing," he declared, standing up. "No way I'm sitting still for this."
Ana blinked, startled. "What are you doing?"
"Dancing," Steve replied matter-of-factly, already swaying to the beat.
"You're ridiculous," Ana said, though she couldn't help but laugh.
"Ridiculously fun," he shot back, holding out his hand. "Come on. You've got to dance to this."
"No way," Ana said, shaking her head firmly. "I don't dance."
"Everyone dances to this song," Steve argued, grabbing her hand before she could protest.
"Steve!" she exclaimed, but he was already pulling her to her feet.
Her laughter bubbled out despite herself as he twirled her around, his movements exaggerated and goofy. At first, she felt self-conscious, acutely aware of how awkward and stiff she probably looked. But Steve's enthusiasm was infectious, and soon she found herself letting go, moving to the beat with a freedom she hadn't felt in ages.
By the time the song ended, she was breathless, her cheeks flushed from laughter and exertion. Steve flopped back onto the bed, grinning up at her.
"You're a natural," he said.
"I told you, I don't dance," Ana replied, still catching her breath.
"Well, you should. You're good at it," he said simply.
Ana looked away, her cheeks burning again. Her heart was racing, and she wasn't sure if it was from the dancing or the way he was looking at her. Joyce's words echoed faintly in her mind once more. "It's kind of wonderful, isn't it?"
The next song started, and Steve froze mid-laugh.
"Is this 'Rock You Like a Hurricane'?" he asked, his voice full of disbelief.
Ana nodded, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. What, you didn't think I'd like rock music?"
"It's just... unexpected," he admitted. "But kind of awesome."
Ana shrugged. "It's my secret. I've always loved rock and metal. My dad used to play it when I was a kid."
"That's badass," Steve said, clearly impressed.
"Thanks," she said softly.
As the tape continued, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" by Cyndi Lauper began to play, and Ana's entire face lit up.
"This one's my favorite," she admitted, her voice almost giddy.
Steve noticed the change in her immediately. Her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with a happiness that was impossible to ignore. For a moment, he just watched her, struck by how different she looked when she let her guard down.
"One more dance?" he suggested, standing up again.
Ana hesitated, her heart fluttering at the way he asked. But then she nodded shyly, letting him take her hand once more.
They spun and laughed together, their laughter mingling with the music, and for the first time in a long time, Ana felt completely carefree. By the time the song ended, her cheeks ached from smiling so much, and her heart felt impossibly light.
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Later, as they returned to their books, the room felt quieter but no less warm. Steve had changed the cassette to one of his own, letting soft rock play in the background as they studied.
Ana tried to focus on her notes, but her thoughts kept drifting to the way Steve had smiled at her during their impromptu dance session, the way he'd made her feel like the most important person in the room.
When the evening ended and she packed up to leave, Ana was still lost in her thoughts. She barely noticed that she'd left her cassette on his desk, her mind too preoccupied with the way her heart seemed to skip every time she thought of him.
As she drove home, the memory of his laugh, his touch, and the way he'd made her feel lingered like the echo of a song.
Maybe Joyce was right. Maybe it really was a crush.
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Ana shut the front door quietly behind her, the familiar creak of its hinges echoing in the stillness of the house. She leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long, shaky breath. The evening with Steve had been perfect—too perfect. Her chest felt heavy, a strange mixture of exhilaration and unease pressing down on her.
As she walked to her room, the quiet seemed deafening, amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. Her fingers brushed the walls, her steps light out of habit, but inside she felt anything but steady.
The small sanctuary of her bedroom greeted her with its usual coziness: pale blue walls adorned with posters, shelves stacked with books, and a warm quilt draped over her bed. Ana dropped her bag onto the floor and stood there for a moment, staring at the space as if it held the answers to her tumultuous emotions.
But it didn't.
Her gaze fell to the wooden floor near her bed—a specific panel that was slightly lighter than the others, almost imperceptibly out of place. She moved toward it on instinct, kneeling down and prying it open with practiced ease.
Beneath the panel lay her diary, its soft leather cover worn from years of use. This was her secret place, the one corner of the world where she could let the storm in her head spill out in ink without fear of judgment.
She settled onto her bed, cross-legged, the diary open on her lap. Her pen hovered above the page for a moment, her thoughts too tangled to form coherent sentences.
"It's a crush," Joyce's voice whispered in her memory, unbidden. Ana shook her head, pushing the thought aside, but it clawed its way back, relentless.
With a resigned sigh, she began to write.
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Dear Diary,
I don't even know where to start tonight. My mind is a mess, and writing usually helps, but this feels like trying to untangle a knot that just keeps getting tighter.
So, Steve. That's what this is about. Who this is about? I'm not even sure how it got to this point. A few weeks ago, he was just... Steve. The guy who needed help with his homework. The guy who made dumb jokes and got easily distracted during our study sessions. But now... I don't know.
Tonight was different. He danced with me. He made me laugh so much I thought my sides would split. And when he looked at me... It was like he saw me. Not just the girl who tutors him, but me.
But I can't be reading into this. I won't. He's Steve Harrington. He has Nancy. And even if he didn't, what would he see in me?
🧇🔦🚲📺
Ana paused, her pen hovering over the page. Her breath hitched as she reread her words. It felt dangerous to admit these thoughts, even here, where no one else would ever see them. But the words were out now, etched into the page, impossible to take back.
She pressed the pen back to the paper, her grip tightening as her emotions bubbled to the surface.
🧇🔦🚲📺
Joyce says it's a crush. I can't stop hearing her say that. But it doesn't feel like a crush. Crushes are supposed to be light and fun, right? This feels... heavy. Like it's sinking into my bones and taking up space where it doesn't belong.
And it's not just the way he smiles or the way his hair always looks like he just rolled out of bed. It's the little things. The way he listens, even when he pretends not to care. The way he doesn't laugh at me when I get nervous or stumble over my words.
But none of that matters. It doesn't change the fact that he's with Nancy. That he's way out of my league. And even if none of that were true, I can't let myself feel this way. It's stupid. It's impossible.
🧇🔦🚲📺
Ana dropped the pen, her chest tight. She leaned back against the headboard, her diary still open on her lap. Her fingers brushed the edges of the pages, but she couldn't bring herself to keep writing.
Her mind reeled with memories of the evening—the way Steve had pulled her into the dance, the warmth of his hand against hers, the way he had looked at her during "Every Breath You Take." She shook her head fiercely, trying to dispel the images.
It doesn't mean anything, she told herself. He's just being Steve. Friendly, goofy Steve. That's all it is.
But even as she thought it, a part of her didn't believe it.
Ana sat there for what felt like hours, the room growing darker as the sun dipped below the horizon. Shadows crept across her walls, and the cool night air seeped in through the cracks in the windowpane.
Eventually, she picked up her pen again, unable to leave her thoughts unfinished.
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Maybe Joyce is right. Maybe this is a crush. But what am I supposed to do with that? I can't tell him. I can't tell anyone. Not even myself, really.
Because the truth is, even if I wanted to admit it—even if I wanted to believe there was the tiniest chance he could ever feel the same—it wouldn't change anything.
He's Nancy's. And I'm... me.
So I'll just have to bury this. Push it down until it disappears.
Maybe if I write it all out, I can get it out of my system. Maybe then it won't feel so real.
🧇🔦🚲📺
Ana stopped again, her heart aching with the weight of her own words. Her chest felt tight, and she realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled shakily, closing the diary and running her fingers over its worn cover.
This was her secret, and it would stay that way. She would lock it away in the pages of her diary, hidden under the floorboard, and pretend it didn't exist.
But even as she told herself that, a part of her knew it wouldn't be so easy.
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Ana returned the diary to its hiding place and slid the floor panel back into place, making sure it was secure. She climbed into bed, pulling the quilt up to her chin as she stared at the ceiling.
Her mind was still racing, replaying every moment of the evening, every word and look and laugh. She thought about the way Steve had admired her music, the way he had danced with her without hesitation, the way he had made her feel seen in a way no one else ever had.
And she thought about Joyce's words, how they had struck a chord she hadn't been ready to acknowledge.
"It's a crush."
Ana closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but the war in her head raged on. Part of her wanted to believe Joyce was right, to let herself feel the hope that came with it. But the other part—the louder, more insistent part—told her it was foolish, that she was setting herself up for heartbreak.
In the quiet of her room, with nothing but the hum of the night outside, Ana felt small and uncertain. She had always been good at keeping her feelings in check, at staying in the background and not making waves. But this... this was different.
She didn't know how to fight it.
And as she lay there, staring into the darkness, she realized she wasn't sure she wanted to do.
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