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stinknoodle · 1 year

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Just One Dance

Summary: Steve bumps into you after dropping Dustin off at the Snowball and decides to stop and catch up, unintentionally uprooting long forgotten feelings within the both of you.

Fic Flavor: Childhood friends to lovers(kinda), mutual pinning, mild angst

Word Count: 5,316

As Steve pulled away from the gym entrance, jaw clenched, he spotted a familiar form in the distance, one he hadn't taken in for a while. You were perched on the edge of the sidewalk, your leather jacket pulled tight around your body and a cigarette in hand. He frowned, this was an odd hour to be sitting alone outside. With recent events weighing heavily in his mind, he pulled up to park about a yard away. He'd just check up on you, maybe offer to give you a ride home, just in case. He only harbored fond memories of you and the thought of something bad happening to another person he knew made his stomach turn.

As he approached, you didn’t take notice. A skateboard, your skateboard, sat upside-down on the road, pushed against the sidewalk. The bottom was decorated and seemingly hand painted, your name in an edgy font surrounded by haphazard doodles of skulls and flowers and all sorts of other clashing designs. Your shoulders jumped slightly when you finally became aware of his presence.

"Uh- hey." He greeted awkwardly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Much to his relief, a wide grin split across your face. "Well, well, well, if it isn't King Steve, in the flesh."

He scoffed lightly at the faux title, choosing pointedly to not comment on it; the only thing he'd felt like "the king" of lately was the losers. "Glad to see you haven't changed too much, (Y/N)."

Which isn't to say you hadn't changed at all, you held yourself very differently than the last time you had really talked. You sported some new piercings and dark eye makeup that made the color of your eyes pop. A couple chains hung loosely at your belt loops and a few wrapped about your neck. The alternative style you'd taken to was starkly different to the softer, preppier one you had worn the last time he had checked, but then again that was, what, eighth grade? He tried to not be too surprised. You seemed much more comfortable in your skin now anyways; it was pleasant to see.

"What's Mr. Harrington doing out here all alone on this fine night, hm?" You tilted your head with a smirk.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Just dropping off a, uh, friend at the Snowball." It felt a little weird to call Dustin a friend, but at this point it would be weirder to call him anything but.

"Ah," You grimaced slightly, "s'that why you look like a kicked puppy?"

"What?" He snapped, a little more irritably than he had meant to, immediately regretting the tone.

Thankfully, you held your hands up in mock surrender and chuckled. "Sorry, I just saw Nancy in there and assumed. Teach me to make assumptions."

"No it's-" He sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "it's fine, I'm sorry."

You shifted a bit and leaned back on your free hand. "You are forgiven, your highness. Care to take a seat with a lowly peasant, have a smoke?" You offered up the cigarette with a friendly grin.

He sat next to you gratefully, hesitating a moment before taking the cigarette from you and taking a long drag. The quiet between you was filled with the distant thrum of music wafting from the gym. Your shoes tapped the pavement, but there was no anxiety to the movement; it was more like you were bursting with energy that your body was hardly containing. It had always been like that with you, though you had tamped it down more in your younger years.

"Do you remember our Snowball?" You suddenly spoke up, a fond smile on your lips. You weren't looking at him, but at the hole in the thigh of your black jeans, which you were picking at with bored hands.

"Uh, kind of." He shrugged, the memory felt so distant now.

Suddenly your gaze shot up, your grin widening impossibly. "Wait, do you not remember?"

He blinked at you, brows slowly knitting together as he tried to scrounge for what you could be talking about.

You laughed easily, catching yourself on his shoulder as you leaned back from the intensity of the movement. "Holy shit, you really don't! That's fucking wild!"

"What are you talking about?" He finally relented, cheeks flushing lightly with embarrassment. You gently plucked the cigarette from his hand, taking a short pull from it before pushing the smoke through your teeth.

"Way back when, I asked you to go to the Snowball with me. You said yes." You snickered as you watched recognition slowly leak back into his face. "Then, when we got there, you completely ignored me. Didn't even dance with me once."

Guilt boiled through his stomach and up his chest, remembering vaguely with horror. "Oh, God, right. I- I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be!" You laughed again. He didn't understand, especially as you propped a warm arm up on his shoulder, looking up into the sky with a fond expression on your face. "It's kinda funny now. I mean, obviously it was absolutely devastating at the time, but now I look back at it and laugh. I mean, what did I think would happen?"

His frown deepened, confusion marking up his face. "How is that funny?"

Your smile didn't falter as you turned your gaze to him. "Just- what did I expect? You're Steve Harrington and I'm- well, I'm me." You shook your head and chuckled, lowering your gaze to your lap. You sucked in another breath of smoke and blew it out of the corner of your mouth. He didn’t miss how you used the present tense in your statement, implying that this was still a current dilemma.

Quiet fell over you once more, but this time there was a mild tension to it. Steve floundered for a way to express the thoughts in his head as he recalled that night.

"I'm sorry I did that to you, it was really shitty of me to ditch you." He spoke genuinely, picking at the sidewalk.

You glanced at him with a funny look and you shook your head. "Nah, there's no hard feelings, really. I just get it now, y'know?" You shrugged. "It's probably for the best you crushed that when you did, we would've never ended up suiting each other."

"What does that mean?" It stressed him out how casually you sold yourself short. You tapped the ashes off of the tip of the cigarette on the thick sole of your shoe and placed it into his hand in favor of toying with a safety pin on your jacket.

“I really liked you, Steve. Like, a lot.” You smiled. Before he could respond, you continued on. “But, if you had indulged me even a little, I’m certain things would have turned out much worse. You let me down arguably easily, I never would’ve survived the popularity you garnered.”

He let the words settle in for a bit before he shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let anyone give you shit.”

You smiled appreciatively, but still mirrored him with the shake of your head. “Nah, look at us. You would have been a social outcast just from being around me. It’s better like this. I’d rather us be distant than ruining everything over some stupid, shitty eighth grade break-up anyways.” You laughed.

“I guess… I just feel bad for screwing you over, even just as a friend.”

"Don't worry, Stevie. You'll find a nice girl to settle down with, make a little family, and I'll- I don't know, find someone more my speed. Things will work out one day."

He rolled the cigarette between his fingers in thought, swallowing hard. Why did that sting so badly? He hadn't thought about you like that in years and yet it hurt to be written as completely incompatible, for you to paint your respective futures without the other in them. He knew you hadn’t really talked in years, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t start again, especially with how well things were going tonight. He took one more drag before putting out the stump of the cigarette, discarding it in the street. The two of you listened to the music, a light hum starting in your throat.

"I actually did want to dance with you." He suddenly confessed. You gave him a confused look and his cheeks burned under your gaze, a hand scratching at his neck. "At the Snowball. I remember thinking that you looked really pretty and uh, I wanted to dance with you. Really badly. But I-" he coughed into his fist anxiously. "I let my friends talk me out of it. Which fucking sucks and was really rude, and even though you say it's fine I'm still sorry."

Your lips parted slightly, something unknown sparkling in your eyes. As he finished speaking, you smiled warmly and let your cheek press to his shoulder, almost like you were hiding.

"Thanks, Steve…" Your voice was softer than before.

"Yeah…" He replied, tentatively wrapping his arm around your back to softly grip your forearm on your far side. The silence rolled back in, but it was softer this time, and lasted much longer.

"I'm sorry about Nancy, by the way." You spoke quietly, hands fiddling in your lap. "I was- uh, I saw you guys kind of get into it at that dumb Halloween party. And then I saw you leave without her and Jonathan and-" you sucked in a breath, like you'd said too much. "Yeah, I'm just sorry."

He squeezed your arm lightly, swallowing the lump in his throat before replying simply with, "S'fine."

You chewed your lip for a long pause, but when the distant song changed to something slower, you suddenly sat up straight; Steve quickly missed your warmth.

"Well, I believe you owe me a dance." You grinned brightly at him and held out a hand.

He stared into your scraped up palm, bewildered at the sudden change in mood. "What?"

"Hey, it's the night of the Snowball, I'm dressed in my best,” you gestured to yourself almost sarcastically, “and you always look good,” you gestured to him, sounding a hair more sincere, “and you owe me at least one dance." You snickered and pushed yourself to your feet, offering up your hand again. "Unless, of course, you've suddenly decided you don't want to associate with undesirables."

He rolled his eyes and took your hand, albeit gently to accommodate for the scuffs there. "Stop talking like that, I'm not really that much of anything anymore, and you’re not," he scrunched his face up and shook his head, “undesirable.”

You tugged him to his feet with surprising strength, and he was mildly grateful for your thick-soled shoes; it put you at the perfect height difference, which made it easier to dance. You guided one of his hands to your waist and trailed your fingers lightly up his arm to rest on his shoulder. The two of you slowly began swaying awkwardly, a little stilted and bodies just a little too far away from each other.

You laughed sweetly, head thrown back in a way that exposed the pretty skin of your throat. "Harrington, I don't think any teachers are gonna come tell us off if we get a little closer. I didn't take you for being shy." That smirk pulled back onto your face.

He rolled his eyes, cheeks burning hot as you stepped into his space without hesitation. He released your waist and brought your joined hands above your head to give you a quick spin.

"How's that for shy, huh?" He said as his hands returned to their previous placement.

You only laughed again in response.

As you both relaxed, you slowly drifted closer and closer, as if being drawn together by an invisible string. Soon, your head was pressed to his chest, his hand released in favor of joining your other hand behind his neck. Both of his hands stayed respectfully on your waist, his chin lightly pressed to the top of your head. While you swayed, he was suddenly very glad he had decided to stop and talk to you. That reminded him, however, of the reason he'd stopped in the first place.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah?" Your voice was like a fluffy blanket, soft and warm.

"Why were you sitting out here alone?"

You laughed shortly, leaning up to his ear. "To be honest?" You hesitated, voice shaking with hardly contained humor, with an ever widening smile. "I ate shit while riding my skateboard around and was trying to pick the gravel out of my body, but it made me nauseous so I stopped."

"Oh my God." Steve laughed through the words, delighting in the way you hung off of him as you lost it. You hid your face in his shirt, muffling the high, hysterical sounds of your giggles.

"Do you want a ride home after this, then?"

You looked up with tears of laughter in your eyes. "I thought you'd never ask.”

Despite your protests of being okay to walk on your own, he helped you into the passenger seat of his car, giving your hands a light squeeze before drawing back to shut the door and head over to the driver's side.

"So, how's about we head over to my place to patch you up first, hm?" He spoke as he pulled onto the road. "It's pretty late, though." He added, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled, "Sure, Steve. My parents aren't home anyways, they won't even notice."

He nodded knowingly. Some things never change, and that had been one of the reasons you two had originally gotten so close in eighth grade. Neither of your parents were ever home, so you'd just walk to each other's houses after school. Sometimes just to hang out, but mostly to spend the night. It made you both feel just a bit safer, to have another body in the house with you. He realized how much he had sorely missed that feeling of security as he pulled up to his house.

"Do you… do you wanna stay the night?" He cleared his throat and tried to sound more confident than he actually was. You winced and opened your mouth to reply when he suddenly realized how charged with implications that question now was.

"Not to like- not like that, just, y'know," His voice died as he concentrated on parking the car and finally turned to look at your hesitant face, "like we used to. Obviously I have the guest room and you can say no of course you can always say no but-"

"Steve," You pressed a reassuring hand to his shoulder, "I'd love to stay the night."

He sent back a small, apologetic, and grateful smile. To be truthful, he hadn't been sleeping very well, if at all. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was those things. He heard them between every baited breath, and when his eyes slipped closed, he felt them watching. The rational part of him knew it was all over, that he was probably safe in the confines of his room, that the only creatures he had to worry about in the tender hours of the night were wild animals typical to the area, but he just couldn't shake that feeling. The feeling that he was being watched, that the worst was only yet to come, that something was waiting just beyond their sight, watching, waiting.

"Steve?" Your voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts, hand clenched around the cold bathroom doorknob.

"Sorry," He mumbled before twisting the handle and stepping in.

"It's fine," you stated gently, closing the toilet seat and sitting atop it while he dug through cabinets to locate the first-aid kit. "Where were you?"

"What?" He glanced up at you without turning his head.

You waved a hand, lips pursed. "You looked like you were… somewhere else. Somewhere bad."

It took a moment for him to get what you were saying, but once he did a lump formed at the back of his throat. He knelt at your feet, trying to roll up your pant legs with careful consideration for your knees.

"Nowhere, it's fine. I'm just kind of… tired." Not a lie, he felt like his limbs were made of lead.

You hummed, leaning forward to rest an elbow just above your knee and perching your chin on your hand. "This'd be easier if I was wearing shorts. You got anything I could borrow?"

He stood up, relenting and letting your pant leg drop back down to your ankle. "Yeah, I'll be back in a sec."

It was only when he had started digging through his dresser that he realized how readily he agreed to lend you his stuff, how easy you had found it to ask him to. There had been no hesitation, it almost felt natural, like it hadn’t been nearly four years since you’d even spoken a word to each other. He felt something warm in his chest, and he decided to be grateful for the comfortability that still remained between you two.

When he got back, you were picking at the open wounds on your palms, wearing a bored expression. "Stop that, you're gonna make it worse."

You looked up and gave him an award-winning smile of innocence. "Doing what? I've got no clue what you're talking about."

He tossed you the shorts and t-shirt in his hands and headed for the door. "Let me know when you're done changing."

You tilted your head curiously. "Why's there a shirt? Something wrong with mine?"

"Just figured you'd want to sleep in something other than your street clothes, you're free to just give it back." He called over his shoulder before pulling the door shut behind him.

The bathroom was nearly silent behind Steve as he leaned against the wall beside the door. He was almost nodding off when your voice suddenly sounded.

"You can come back in, pretty boy."

The pet name made his cheeks glow with blush, taking a calming breath before opening the door with indifference forced onto his face. It got even harder to keep the expression when he saw you, in his clothes, in his bathroom, staring up at him. Your street clothes were folded neatly on the edge of the sink, your socked feet lightly tapping at the tile. A smirk tugged at your lips, and you were opening your mouth to say something when he quickly ducked the statement to kneel at your feet once more.

"Christ, how were you even standing?" He lightly ghosted his fingers over the bloody gashes at your knees. He pressed his palm just above your knee and stroked the skin there with his thumb. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

As he looked back up at you, he found your mouth still hanging open, cheeks flushed. You coughed into a fist and cast your gaze to the side. "Looks a lot worse than it actually is."

He scowled lightly. "Really?"

"Yeah, I've experienced worse." You chuckled. "Nothing will compare to when I broke my leg sophomore year." You grinned down at him, an attempt to reassure him gone wrong. "The bone was sticking out, it was pretty sick."

He looked horrified and you laughed, loud and hearty and so very you. "That's terrible."

"It's fine, really. I've recovered, obviously." You chuckled. He finally withdrew to start digging through the first-aid kit, shaking his head in disbelief as he did so. That definitely explained the massive scar on your left knee.

"Okay, here, this'll probably sting a bit, but it's important that we get them as clean as possible." He narrated as he pulled out some hydrogen peroxide. He dug around for a small hand towel and dumped some of the liquid on it.

"I'm a big kid, I'm sure I can handle it."

He shook his head again. "You can squeeze my shoulder if it hurts too bad, and we can always take breaks if you want."

Your grin turned mischievous, "Oh, yeah? You gonna take care of me?" Your flirtatious tone made his face light up like a Christmas light. He quickly pressed the cloth to your right knee.

You gasped loudly, hands flying down to squeeze at his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, Steve! A little warning would've been nice!"

He didn't respond, opting to rub your left thigh apologetically. He would've apologized out loud if he had trusted his voice to not shake. By the time he was done wiping down your knees, you had two fistfulls of his red shirt in each hand. Your makeup was running down your cheeks and neck, forcing yourself to swallow back a pained sound.

"You did such a good job, we're almost done, alright?" He spoke softly, setting down the cloth in favor of antibiotic ointment and bandages. To give you some credit, they did in fact, look a lot worse than they actually were. Still, he hadn't been expecting any reaction less than the one you’d had.

"Give me your hands?" He asked lightly as he finished up bandaging your knees.

You gave him a hesitant look, paired with a sniffle, but extended your hands at his patient expression. He felt you relax in his grip as you realized those didn't hurt nearly as bad as your knees.

"There," He practically breathed the word out, having to clear his throat to continue, "all better."

"Gonna kiss 'em better?" He looked up into your watery grin, and he found himself having to scramble to regain his footing in the situation. He looked back down, and leaned in to press a soft kiss to each knee.

"St-Steve-" you stammered, but you choked on your words as he took your hands into his, looking into your eyes as he pressed light kisses to your palms.

Satisfied with your silence, bright red cheeks, and gaping mouth, he stood. "Better?"

"Y-yeah." Your voice trailed off, quickly glancing into your palms to trace the kisses with your eyes.

"Good, you had anything for dinner yet?"

You shook your head wordlessly, jumping a bit when his hand reached into your view.

"C'mon, I think I can whip something up for us." He didn't actually expect you to take his hand, you would probably just push it away with another hearty laugh. That's what would have made sense with what knowledge he’d gathered on you. You did no such thing, however, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. He felt your hand squeeze at his lightly, lingering just a little longer than what was probably acceptable, and let go.

What was happening? Why were you both acting like this? Steve was absolutely puzzled as you started talking his ear off, it was almost as if none of that had just happened. He was only half listening as you rambled, but you didn't seem to mind his distant expression; you must have just wanted someone to talk to. The entire time all he could think about was how bizarre tonight had turned. He felt almost bad at the fluttering in his chest, but it was kind of soothing and certainly preferential to the ache that had been there earlier in the night.

After dinner, you had cleaned your makeup-smudged face off and gone your separate ways. You had patted Steve's shoulder with a splitting yawn and mumbled out a "G'night." The knowledge that you were in the house with him did less to soothe his nerves than he thought it would, less than it had when you were little. Then again, he had had less things to worry about at that time, As he laid in his bed, his eyes kept drawing back open to stare at the window. Every little sound was some nightmarish creature, every shadow was hunting him. He dragged a tired hand down his face, stretching out the heavy bags under his eyes. Suddenly, he ripped the blankets back from his body and stood, a hand quickly being pressed to his desk to steady himself. He couldn’t help but look out of the window at the pool. His stomach lurched and he forced himself to turn away, a sad attempt at shutting out the millions of thoughts spinning through his head. It’s bullshit, we killed Barb, we killed Barb, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. He tried to be quiet as he stumbled to the bathroom and splashed his face with palm-fulls of water; it took at least 30 minutes to stop himself from retching.

With any chances of sleeping officially ruined, he made his way to the kitchen. He got himself a glass of water and sipped at it morosely, trying to convince himself that he was safe. The creak of the stairs set him on edge, hand gripping at the cup. His heart pounded in his ears as the sound of something moving through the house got closer and closer until-

“Steve?” Your groggy voice immediately shattered the tension. You gave him a tired smile, your tone teasing as you continued. “You too cool for sleep, huh?”

A heavy sigh of relief tore through his chest, the inhale proceeding it shaky. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You okay? You look…” You sleepily searched for an adjective as you made your way over to him.

“Like shit?” He provided.

“Scared.” Oh. “Terrified, actually. Did something happen?” Oh.

It was humiliating how that simple question nearly brought him to tears. He liked to blame the lack of sleep for how vulnerable his body was trying to be. It took a massive amount of effort to dam up the flood of tears and the selfish explanation that came rushing in. The less of the truth you knew, the safer you would be, and he refused to be the one who put you in that kind of danger just because he couldn’t keep his shit together.

“Bad dream?” Your fingers lightly brushed the back of his bicep as you unknowingly provided a helpful excuse for him to escape with.

He nodded, teeth clenched tightly. He averted his gaze quickly to stare into the wall and attempt to blink back the tears.

You were quiet for a long beat, fingers drawing soothing patterns into his skin. You took the glass from his hand and took a sip from it. “D’you wanna build a blanket fort in the living room?” When he looked back at your face, you were grinning childishly.

“Okay, that should do it,” You groaned with a stretch as you gave one last tuck to the corner of the blanket draped over the top of your soft structure.

“You’re still really good at that; you been practicing without me?” He teased with a tired smile.

You laughed and shook your head. “Build a fort? With another man? What do you take me for?”

He let out a responding laugh, combing a hand through his hair to push it out of his face.

You grinned up at him, clearly pleased with that response. “Well, what are we waiting for?” And with that, you were crawling in through the entrance.

Steve waited for you to settle inside before heading in out of fear that he would tear the whole thing down. You were snuggled into the corner, surrounded by pillows and trying to set the flashlight up in a way that it didn't need to be held to still shine light into the makeshift cove. The fort was not as spacious as it had appeared to be, or rather, the two of you were a lot bigger than the last time you'd built a fort together, and you hadn’t accommodated for this factor. His legs ended up snug against yours as he laid next to you, your shoulder pressing into his chest.

"There." You finally let out a quiet, excited woop as you succeeded in putting up the flashlight. "Now," you turned your gaze to Steve, suddenly holding a faux air of severity, "you gonna come here or what?"

“What?” He laughed the word out, feeling the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears heat up at your opened, welcoming arms.

“Well,” you wiggled a bit to get more comfortable, “this is a pretty small fort, and you look pretty cold, and I’m pretty sure you’d benefit from a good snuggle.”

“You look pretty,” He grumbled out, the words a failed knee-jerk attempt at sass. Your cheeks leaked rouge and you beamed back at him.

“C’mon, I won’t make you do anything if you genuinely don’t want to, but you seriously look like you need a hug.” He was grateful that you hadn’t brought up his comment.

You were right, of course, he definitely needed a hug. The longer he stared at you in contemplation, the harder it was to resist giving in. Finally, he slid closer to you, careful to not press his entire weight into your body. Your arms wrapped around him and your hands came up to hold his head, all to pull him closer into you.

“There we go, c’mere big cat,” Your smile was evident in your voice as you gave him a tight squeeze. “Isn’t that so much better?”

He grumbled a half-hearted complaint about your fingers being cold, but his body language spoke very clearly that he was in pure bliss. His arm slid up to hold across your waist, grip a little stronger than you had expected. His other arm was pulled up against his chest, fist tucked up under his chin. Your breath ghosted over the top of his head, one hand stroking gently through his hair, picking softly and splitting apart hairsprayed strands. The other hand rubbed a line up and down his back with a firm tenderness; every careful touch pulled him into a state of calm that he hadn’t known for quite some time. A soft, embarrassing sound came from his throat as you pulled your hand away from his back and you chuckled.

“Just grabbing a blanket, s’that okay?” Your voice was somewhere between speaking and whispering.

He nodded against your chest, letting you lean up slightly to grab a blanket and he helped you pull it over your bodies. You tucked it gently up to his chin, sending a small smile down at him when he met your gaze. Your fingers were warmer than before as they slid down from his hair to gently cup his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye.

“You comfy?” You smiled brilliantly when he nodded again. “Good. Try to get some sleep, yeah? You look like shit.”

He huffed out a half-laugh and pressed his cheek back down to your chest. “Easier said than done.”

“Yeah, I get that…” You continued to stroke his hair, apologizing when one of your rings caught and tugged a strand.

Despite his snarky comment, he found himself slipping into the clutches of sleep in your arms. He could hear the rhythm of your heartbeat through your ribs underneath his ear, and he felt the rumble in your chest when you started to quietly hum. His tight grip around you slowly eased as he drifted away from the conscious world, finally letting his tired body rest.

You could feel the moment he fell asleep, could see it in the way his expression relaxed. His eyebrows finally drew up and apart, his lips parting just slightly and the softest snores started to leave through the gap. He looked very pretty like this, all relaxed and peaceful. You leaned down to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead, and eased your head back into the pillow. You squeezed him one more time, his arms unconsciously tightening around you a hair, and you let yourself finally be taken from the world by sleep as well.

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