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You have never been popular. You never had a ton of friends in school, nor were the kind of girl people seemed to look twice at. It’s not like you didn’t have any friends. You did, just not a lot. And it’s not like you have never been on dates or been liked by someone. But it has never really felt like it meant anything. Not in the way people describe.
Had anyone told you back then that you would end up being friends with Steve Harrington you would’ve laughed. Not in a mean way, just confused. But here you are, not just colleagues, but also friends. Actual friends.
And he is easy to be around. He’s kind, something you don’t think people give him enough credit for. But also something you have been embarrassed about finding so surprising now that you actually know him, which feels a little unfair, when you think about it.
Like you expected less from him just because of who he used to be. Or, maybe more, who people used to say he was, the two of you didn’t interact much back then. But Steve isn’t that person. Not with you, not with Robin, not with Nancy’s brother and his friends who come into the store like it’s their second home.
He is the guy who asks you if you need a lift home after every closing shift. “Just in case,” he always says, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. He is just nice like that. And you, you let it be nothing. Because that’s easier.
You might have learned that Steve Harrington is so much more than the popular jock he was back in high school. But you haven’t quite learned what it means when someone like him looks at you the way he does. Because in your head, those things don’t connect. Steve being kind? That makes sense now. Steve being thoughtful, patient, soft in ways people don’t always notice? You see that. You know that.
Steve liking you? That still doesn’t fit anywhere. But it hasn’t stopped you from harbouring a little crush on him, though you push it down. It’s quiet, like a secret, tucked away behind the part of you that tells yourself it’s impossible. Because boys like Steve Harrington don’t look at girls like you like that. They just don’t. And if you start believing otherwise, you’ll ruin whatever this is. Friendship is far safer than hope.
Steve is going out of his way to be kind to you, which obviously means he feels bad for you. That’s what nice boys do when they feel bad, they’re gentle. They soften their voice, they look at you like you might break. It’s just kindness.
· · · · ·
It’s late. You’re the last two at Family Video, lights dimmed, the open sign buzzing faintly in the window. You’re perched on the counter, swinging your legs, telling him about a book you’re reading.
He’s not really listening. He’s watching the way your hands move when you talk. The way your eyes light up when you get excited. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s thought that for a long time now. Not that you have any clue.
Steve is in love with you. He knows it, Robin knows it, probably the entire state of Indiana knows it. Everyone except you. Because every time he tries to flirt, you look at him like he’s just offered you a polite pleasentry. Like he’s said “nice weather we’re having” instead of anything that actually matters. Which, in Steve’s opinion, is deeply unfair, because he is trying his absolute best.
It’s painful. Not because you’re rejecting him. God, Steve almost wishes you were rejecting him. At least then it would mean you understood what he was trying to do. That you saw him, saw the way he looks at you, and decided no.
But you don’t. You just smile, soft and absentminded, and move on like nothing happened. Not offended. Not flattered. Just… mildly confused, like you’re trying to figure out why he thought you’d say yes in the first place. And Steve? Steve is losing his mind.
Back in high school, flirting was easy. It landed, it worked. People got it. But with you it’s like he’s speaking an entirely different language, and you’re nodding along out of courtesy while missing every single word. He has begun thinking that you might be completely, hopelessly, immune to him.
Not just to his flirting, but to him. And that thought sticks. It lingers in the back of his mind longer than he wants it to. Longer than he’s comfortable with. Because Steve has never been someone people just… don’t notice.
But you do notice him. Just not the way he notices you. You laugh at his jokes, you ask him questions. You lean a little closer when he’s telling a story, like you don’t want to miss a word. So it doesn’t make sense to him.
Maybe you do actually know what he is doing and you just don’t want to hurt him, or make it awkward between you now that you work together. And that thought hits harder than anything else.
Because that would mean you do see him.
You see the way he looks at you, the way he lingers, the way he keeps finding excuses to be near you, and you’ve decided to pretend you don’t. To spare him. To keep things easy and not hurt his feelings.
Steve hates that idea. Not because it makes him look stupid, he’s already accepted that part, but because it means every soft smile you give him, every laugh, every easy conversation might just be you sparing his feelings.
You are one of the kindest people he’s ever met, which is exactly the problem. Not a bad problem of course. It’s not something he’d ever want to change about you. But it does make everything harder.
Because you really are so kind. You go out of your way to make people comfortable. You soften your words, your reactions, your expressions, like you’re always thinking about how someone else might feel before you think about yourself.
So yeah. It would make sense if you would pretend not to notice if you thought he liked you and you didn’t feel the same. It sits heavy in his chest while you keep talking, completely unaware of the spiral happening three feet in front of you.
He hasn’t given up completely, not even close. He’s thought about it, sure. Late at night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every awkward attempt, every missed moment, every time you smiled at him like he was just being nice. One day he has to actually ask you out. like, actually ask you out.
Not hint at it. Not circle around it with bad jokes and half-finished sentences. Not hide behind “we should hang out sometime” like that isn’t the most cowardly version of what he means.
He has to say it. Clear and direct, with no room for misunderstanding. One day… And then you can put him down gently. That’s how it plays out in his head. You’ll do that soft smile. The one that never hurts on the surface but somehow still lands. You’ll say something careful, something kind, something that makes it clear without ever making him feel stupid for trying.
Or maybe, his first intuition was right and you really don’t have any clue about his feelings for you. But how couldn’t you. That’s the part that gets to him the most. Because to Steve, it feels so obvious. He is completely smitten by you.
· · · · ·
It’s a couple of days later, you and Steve are again the only two people left in the store. You’re getting the store ready for closing. The routine is familiar. Lights dimmed halfway, counters wiped down. The soft hum of the store settling into the night. You just need to finish the last few things in the back before you can lock up.
The back room is small. It’s always been small. But tonight it feels microscopic.
You’re trying to reach a box on the top shelf. The hem of your shirt rides up a little when you stretch, and you’re hyperaware of it. Of your stomach. Of your body taking up space in a room that doesn’t leave much to spare.
“Hold on,” Steve says softly behind you. You freeze. His hands land on your waist. Warm, steady, not the last bit hesitant. He moves you aside gently. “I’ll get it.”
Your heart is beating so loud you’re sure he can feel it through his palms. “Thanks,” you murmur, staring at the floor. “Sorry. I’m kinda… in the way.”
His hands don’t move. “You are not in the way.”
You shrug, because you always shrug. “Small room.”
He grabs the box, sets it down, but he doesn’t step away. You’re still close. Almost pressed together in the narrow space. You can feel the warmth of him behind you, solid and steady, and it makes something in your chest twist in a way that’s not entirely comfortable, but by no means bad either. Just unfamiliar. Like standing somewhere new without knowing where to put your feet.
Steve shifts slightly behind you, and for a second you think he’s finally moving away from you. He doesn’t. Not really, hebonly moves a little. No longer touching you, but still close enough to feel intentional.
“Why do you do that?” he asks quietly.
Slowly, carefully, you turn around. It’s a mistake. Or maybe it isn’t. Because now you’re facing him, and there’s barely any space between you. Your brows knit. “Do what?”
You can’t fully read his expression. Not when his eyes keep flicking between yours like he’s trying to decide something. “Talk about yourself like that.” His voice is soft, but there is something heavier under it now.
Your stomach drops. You let out a small, awkward breath. “Like what? I just said it’s a small room.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not that part.”
You don’t turn around. You don’t think you can.
“You do it all the time. Like you’re… apologizing for being here,” he continues, gentler now.
That lands harder than you expect. Your fingers curl slightly at your sides. “I am not,” you start, but the words feel thin, automatic.
He doesn’t let you hide behind them. “You are,” he says, not harsh, just certain. “You just said you were in the way.”
You swallow. Because you did. And it didn’t feel like a big deal when you said it. It never does. “I just meant,” you try again, quieter now. “You needed to get past me.”
“I did get past you,” he says. “That doesn’t mean you were in the way.”
There’s a pause.The kind that stretches, the kind that asks for something real. You let out a breath, shoulders sinking just a little. “It’s the same thing,” you mutter.
“It’s not.”
Your chest tightens. Because he sounds… almost frustrated. Not with you, more just at the idea of it.
“Well, I’m sorry then,” you say a little sharper than you meant to, suddenly feeling a bit defensive. The second it leaves your mouth, you wish you could take it back. Not because you didn’t mean it, but because of the way his face changes.
“Don’t apologize.” His voice softens almost immediately, like he heard the edge in yours and is trying to meet you somewhere gentler. “I’m sorry, okay. I wasn’t trying to criticize you.”
“Don’t apologize,” you just echo. Again more defensive than you mean it to.
Steve stills a little at that. He lets out a small breath. “Okay,” he says softly. “No one’s apologizing.”
You nod, even though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. Your arms fold loosely over your middle. “It’s just how I talk,” you murmur after a second. “I don’t think about it.”
“I know,” he says.
And he does, that’s what keeps throwing you. Because he’s not misunderstanding you. It’s like he’s seeing something you never really looked at yourself.
You glance up at him again, hesitant. “I’m gonna go check the locks,” you mumble. A clean exit you can pretend is just about the job.
For a second, Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t step aside, doesn’t make it easy. And that alone makes your chest tighten. But then he does and you step out, leaving him behind in the small room.
You check the locks and afterwards you start to wipe down the already wiped down counter, simply just to do something. Behind you, you hear the faint shift of movement, Steve coming out from the backroom. The soft thud of boxes being left where they belong. The quiet hum of the store feels louder now with just the two of you, the weird interaction still lingering in the air.
You don’t turn around right away. You don’t even fully understand what happened back there. He was just trying to be nice, and usually you can sort him into something simple in your head. Easygoing coworker, kind friend, a little teasing sometimes, nothing complicated if you don’t look too closely, which you never let yourself do.
It was just words. Just a moment. Just Steve being Steve… too close, too observant, too him in a way you still weren’t used to.
“Hey,” he says gently from a few feet away. “I can still drive you home right?”
Your hand stills against the counter. Of all the things he could’ve said… that’s what he goes with. You swallow. The way he said it made it sound like it would be a punishment, a slap to the face not be able to. And a terrible feeling settles within your chest and stomach. He’s pitying you more than you thought.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” he answers immediately. Not rushed, just certain, like it was never a question. “And I don’t like you walking home alone.”
“It’s only a twenty minute walk, and it’s not like Hawkins is exactly a criminal hotspot,” you finish, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, but still…” he answers, softer. Not arguing, just holding onto it. “I just like knowing you get home okay,” he adds after a second.
A small pause settles between you again, but it’s different now. Softer. Less sharp around the edges. You nod, more to yourself than to him, and go back to wiping the same already-clean spot, even though you’re not really seeing it.
But Steve lingers, you can feel it. Not in a way that presses, but in a way that waits. Then, after a second, “Hey.”
You glance up again.
“I think the counter is clean enough now.”
You blink, like you’ve been pulled out of something you weren’t even fully aware you were in. Your hand stills mid-wipe. You glance down at the spotless counter. “Right.”
There’s a beat. You shift your weight, suddenly aware again of him standing there looking at you. You’ve never had an argument or anything close to one with him before. And it’s not really like this was even a real argument, you don’t even understand why you got upset over something so small. Over him just trying to be nice. You have never reacted like this before, and you don’t really like it.
“You ready to go?” The question lands softer than everything else tonight.
You nod a little too quickly. “Yeah.. Yeah, I’m ready.” Your voice sounds normal enough. You’re hoping it is normal enough.
Steve studies you for half a second, just long enough that you feel it, but he doesn’t push. Doesn’t bring any of it back up. “Okay,” he says easily, like he’s letting you have that.
He reaches for his keys in his jeans pocket, the familiar rattling of the metal cutting softly through the quiet. You grab your bag from behind the counter, movements a little too careful, like you’re trying not to disturb whatever fragile thing the night has turned into.
You walk side by side toward the door. Not touching, but not far apart either. The bell above the door gives a soft ring when Steve holds it open for you. Cold night air slips in, brushing your face, clearing some of the tightness from the back room. You step outside first, and he follows, locking up behind you with practiced ease.
The parking lot is almost empty. Just his car, a few flickering lights from the street beyond, and the quiet stretch of a late evening in a small town. You stop near the passenger side without thinking. Steve doesn’t move right away.
He just stands there beside the car, keys loosely turning between his fingers, like he’s waiting for something that isn’t part of the routine. Like he is debating saying something. You notice it immediately, even if you try not to.
Steve has a certain rhythm to him when things are normal. Easy. Predictable in a comforting way. Keys. Door. “Get in.” Some joke that lands too effortlessly. Music he’s softly humming along to from the radio. Talking to you like you are the best of friends.
But tonight, he’s not doing any of that. He shifts his weight slightly, eyes flicking toward you and then away again, like he’s re-reading a sentence in his head before deciding whether to speak it out loud. He doesn’t, instead he just gives you a small tired smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Alright,” he says, like he’s settling something inside himself more than starting a conversation, unlocking the car. “Let’s get you home.”
You pause for a second longer than you mean to. It’s small, the way he says it, simple words, but something about his tone makes your chest tighten in a way you can’t quite name. Like he’s choosing not to say something else. He almost sounds defeated.
You clear your throat softly and step toward the car, reaching for the handle. “Yeah,” you manage, light enough that it almost sounds normal. “Long day.”
Steve lets out a quiet breath that might be a laugh if it had more air behind it. “Yeah. Long day,” he echoes, but he still doesn’t sound like himself.
You slide into the passenger seat, tugging your bag into your lap. The car smells familiar of leather from the seats, faint cologne and something faintly sweet from the air freshener hanging near the mirror. It should feel grounding, it usually does, but tonight, it doesn’t quite land.
Steve gets in on the other side, and for a moment neither of you moves. He just sits there with both hands on the steering wheel, staring forward like he’s giving himself a second to reset. Then he turns the key. The engine hums to life, soft and steady. Headlights spill across the empty parking lot, stretching long shadows across the pavement.
“You cold?” he asks after a moment, glancing over.
“No,” you say automatically. Then, a second later, a quieter add-on. “I’m okay.”
He nods like he believes you, but his hand still reaches for the dial anyway, turning the heat up just slightly. Not enough to be obvious, just enough that you’ll notice he did it. The silence settles again as he pulls out of the lot.
Hawkins passes in slow, familiar pieces outside the window, dim streetlights, closed shops, empty sidewalks. Everything looks the same as it always does, but it feels a little farther away than usual, like there’s glass between you and it all.
Steve keeps both hands on the wheel. He’s driving carefully. Too carefully, almost, like he’s thinking about every turn before he makes it.
You glance at him once, then look away again. He notices, of course. You’re pretty sure he always notices.
“You’re quiet,” he says gently.
That shouldn’t feel loaded. It should be just a comment, but it lands anyway. Your fingers tighten slightly around your bag. “So are you.”
A beat, then, a soft exhale through his nose, something like agreement, something like resignation. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I am.” The car hums on. A few more seconds pass before he speaks again, quieter this time. “I wasn’t trying to make things weird back there.”
Your gaze drops to your lap almost immediately. “It’s not weird.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence feels heavier than the words. Finally, “Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
You swallow. “Serously, it’s fine, Steve. I know you’re just trying to be nice to me.”
That makes him glance over again, quick and sharp this time, like he’s trying to read you properly. Not your tone. Something underneath it.
“Okay,” he says, but it comes out thin, like it doesn’t quite hold. The car keeps moving, but something between you doesn’t. You can feel him thinking. Not drifting, but thinking. Like he’s standing right at the edge of something and deciding whether to step over it or walk away.
He doesn’t look at you again right away. Just exhales slowly through his nose, fingers tightening slightly on the steering wheel. But then he looks at you again, just for a second before turning his eyes back to the road.
“Can I ask you something?” he says quietly.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
“Do you really think I’m just being nice to you?” There it is again, that tone, careful, almost wounded.
“Well,” you say lightly, because that’s safer, “yeah. That’s kinda your thing now, right? Reformed King Steve. Protector of the socially unfortunate.”
His face falls. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”
You blink. “I mean, yeah. You don’t have to. I appreciate it, I just… you don’t owe me anything.”
“Owe you?” He lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “You think I hang around you because I feel obligated?”
“Hanging out at work sounds like an obligation to me,” you finish, trying to keep it light. Like it’s a joke. Like none of this actually matters, it doesn’t land.
Steve’s grip tightens on the steering wheel again before it softens again. He stares at the road so you take the freedom of studying his profile, the line of his jaw, the outline of his nose. There is something raw and unguarded breaking through the usual ease he hides behind.
“We hang out outside of work too.”
“Right, and I’m happy we do.” You say it gently. Honestly, even. Because you are. But the second it leaves your mouth, you see it, that flicker across his face. Not relief. Not quite hurt, either. Something in between. Or maybe more of a mix between the two. “I’m happy we’ve become friends.”
Steve goes very still beside you. Not dramatic or obvious, just still, like something in him quiets all at once. “Right,” he says after a second. “So am I.” A small pause and then he continues. “I really like being around you… I like you. You’re a really great person, you know”
Your breath catches.
“And I thought maybe,” he exhales, a little uneven, “maybe you knew that. And just… didn’t feel the same.”
Your stomach drops, not because you don’t understand what he’s saying. But because you suddenly realize you do. It all rearranges itself in your head, like pieces finally clicking into place in a way that makes your chest feel tight.
“I just figured…” You swallow. “Usually guys like you don’t…”
“Like what?”
You shake your head immediately, like you can undo it. “Forget it. I didn’t mean–”
“No.” His voice isn’t sharp. It’s steady, patient. “No, I want you to say it.”
Your fingers curl in your lap. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat now, loud enough it feels unfair. You look anywhere but at him. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
That’s what finally makes you look up. His eyes aren’t playful like they usually are. There’s nothing easy about his expression now. Just honesty. And something softer underneath it that makes your chest ache.
“You think I don’t know what people used to think of me?” he asks quietly. “And I don’t blame you for thinking like that about me back then… I just hoped you could see now that some of it wasn’t true back then, and that now I’m not like that at all anymore.”
Your throat tightens. “That’s not what I meant.”
He doesn’t interrupt you this time, he just waits. Completely still, like he’s giving you all the space in the world to get it out properly.
Your hands twist together in your lap.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” you repeat, softer. “I don’t think that about you, I really don’t.” You swallow. “I just meant… people like you, usually like girls like…” You stop yourself again, because even saying it out loud feels like stepping onto something fragile.
Steve’s eyes don’t leave you.
“Like what?” he asks again, but gentler this time. Not pushing. Just asking.
You let out a breath that shakes more than you want it to. “Like not me.”
Silence lands in the car, but it isn’t empty. It’s heavy in a different way now, like something important has finally been said out loud and neither of you can pretend it wasn’t. It’s barely audible. The silence after is thick.
“I’ve been trying to ask you out for so long,” he then says.
You stare at him. “What?”
“I’ve been flirting with you,” he insists. “The rides home. I mean, I would have offered them no matter what, I’m not letting a girl go home alone at night. But I also asked because I wanted more time with you, more opportunity to talk.” he admits. He lets out a short breath, almost a laugh at himself, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve been so into you, that I’m sure I’ve been making myself look a fool so many times.
He trails off, scrubbing a hand down his face like he can’t quite believe he just said that out loud.
“I mean,” he adds, quieter, a little rough around the edges now, “Robin told me I was being obvious. Like, painfully obvious. And she is the most oblivious person I know, so I thought… okay, great. I’m doing fine. Like I’ve been standing too close on purpose, just because I like seeing how your eyes crinkle when you smile.”
“You stand too close to everyone.”
“I absolutely do not.”
Your brain is scrambling. “You’re… you’re not flirting,” you say weakly. “You’re just… being considerate.”
“Do I look considerate right now?”
You finally meet his eyes. He looks nervous. Not pitying, not indulgent. Nervous.
“You’re not rejecting me?” he asks, softer now. “Because every time I try to make a move, you just smile at me like I’m doing community service.”
Your face burns. “I thought you were pity-flirting.”
He groans quietly. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is to me!”
He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head lightly before looking right back to you.
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he says firmly. “I like you. I like working with you. I like hearing you rant about bad movies, and the book you’re reading and hear you complain when people return their tapes without rewinding them first.”
He stops himself there, like his brain has finally caught up with his mouth. His eyes flick away for a second, then back to you again, softer now. Less frantic. More certain.
“I like you, okay” he repeats, quieter this time. The words sit between you both, filling the small space of the car like they belong there more than anything else tonight.
Your throat tightens again, but this time it isn’t defensive. It’s something warmer, more overwhelming than you know what to do with. “I didn’t think that was possible,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Not more as a friend at least.”
Steve lets out a short breath, almost a laugh, but it breaks halfway. “Yeah,” he says, leaning back into the seat for a second like his body finally remembers how to exist. “That’s kind of been the problem.”
A beat passes. Then, more carefully, like he’s stepping onto something fragile but refusing to step away from it:
“You really thought I was just being nice to you?”
You nod once, small, honest. His expresssion shifts, something like disbelief, but not in a cruel way. More like he’s trying to reframe every moment he’s ever had with you.
He lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath, like he’s replaying weeks, months, the entire year you have been working together. A replay of moments in his head and none of them make sense anymore.
“Jesus,” he mutters, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “I thought you were letting me down easy this whole time.”
Your stomach flips. “I thought you were being friendly.”
Steve drags a hand down his face, slow, like he’s trying to physically reset his brain.
“Okay,” he says after a second, more to himself than to you. “Okay, so… we’ve just been having two completely different conversations for, what… months?”
Your lips press together, a little helpless. “Seems like it.”
He lets out a breath that almost turns into a laugh, but it’s shaky around the edges. “Unbelievable.”
There’s a small pause, and then his gaze shifts back to you, honey brown eyes so soft that you almost have to look away. But you don’t, because something in you finally understands that if you look away now, you might lose this moment. And you don’t want to lose it.
The car is quiet, engine humming low beneath everything else, but it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you sitting here, too close and not close enough all at once. Steve swallows, like he’s steadying himself.
“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. Not trying to get your attention—he already has it. Just… easing into something.
Your fingers loosen slightly in your lap. “Yeah?”
He hesitates. It’s small, but you notice it. You always notice him—you’re just realizing now that you do.
“I meant what I said,” he tells you. “About liking you.”
Your chest tightens, but you don’t shut down this time. You let it sit there. Let it exist.
“I know,” you say quietly.
And you do. That’s the difference now. It’s not something you can explain away or shrink into something safer. It’s real, and it’s right there between you.
Steve searches your face, like he’s trying to find the answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet.
“Do you…?” he starts, then stops. Runs a hand through his hair, nervous again. “Do you feel anything like that? Or did I just completely derail a perfectly good friendship for nothing?”
The vulnerability in his voice hits you harder than anything else tonight. It hits you somewhere deep, not because of the question itself, but because of how carefully he asks it. Like he’s bracing for impact, already half-convinced he’s about to lose something he really cares about.
And suddenly, the fear you’ve been holding onto for so long. the one that told you this could never be real, feels a little smaller than the one sitting right in front of you now.
Because he’s scared too.
You swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the strap of your bag before you force them to loosen. “No,” you say softly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
Steve’s shoulders shift, just barely, like he’s trying not to react too quickly. “Okay,” he murmurs, but there’s still that uncertainty lingering, like he’s waiting for the rest of it. You have reached your street now and he parks the car, turning off the engine.
You take a breath. It feels bigger than it should. “I just… didn’t let myself think about it like that,” you admit. Your voice is quiet, but steadier than you expect. “About you liking me, I mean. Because if I did, and I was wrong…” You shake your head a little. “I didn’t want to mess this up either.”
He looks at you again. His gaze soft, something warm and almost relieved flickering through it.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel anything,” you add, a little quicker now, before you can lose your nerve. Your heart is racing, but you keep going anyway. “I do. I just… didn’t think it mattered, I guess. Or that it could.”
That lands, you can see it. Steve’s breath leaves him slowly, like he’s been holding it for longer than he even realized. For a second, he just looks at you.
“Why couldn’t it?” he asks quietly. It’s not sharp, not accusing, just confused. Like he’s standing in front of something that never made sense to him and finally getting to ask about it.
You look down at your hands for a second, twisting your fingers together before you answer. “Honestly… I didn’t think you found me attractive.”
Steve blinks, like the words don’t quite register at first. “What..?”
You wince a little under the weight of it, like saying it out loud makes it more real than you intended. “I just…” you let out a small, awkward breath. “I didn’t think you looked at me like that.”
There’s a beat, a quiet one. And then. “You’re kidding.” It’s not mean, it’s not mocking, it’s stunned.
“You really thought I didn’t find you attractive?”
You nod, small but honest. “Yeah.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Why wouldn’t I find you attractive?” He says it like he truly doesn’t understand.
You swallow, because there isn’t really a version of this answer that doesn’t make you feel a little exposed. “I don’t know,” you say at first, but it comes out thin, almost automatic.
Steve doesn’t interrupt. He just waits, eyes steady on you, like he already knows there’s more.
You let out a breath, shoulders sinking slightly. “Okay, that’s not true,” you correct yourself quietly. “I just… I don’t really look like the girls you used to go out with.”
Steve’s expression stills for a second, his brows draw together slightly, like your words simultaneously pains and confuses him. “I do find you attractive. Very much so”
The words land between you like something carefully placed. No hesitation, no performance, just steady and sure.
You blink, like your brain needs a second to catch up.
Steve doesn’t look away. If anything, he seems more focused now, like he’s decided this is the part he refuses to get wrong.
“I mean it,” he adds quietly, a little softer. “I don’t know how else to say it so you actually believe me, but I think you’re beautiful.”
You feel it in your chest first. Tight, warm, it’s kind of overwhelming, like your body hasn’t quite decided whether to pull away from the words or lean into them. Steve doesn’t move, he just stays there with you, steady, like he’s not going to let the moment slip away or turn into something you can dismiss later.
“I really mean it,” he says again, quieter this time, almost like he’s grounding it. “I think you’re the most beautiful..” He stops himself mid-sentence. Not because he’s unsure, but because he seems to realize something as he says it.
Steve exhales slowly, shaking his head a little like he can’t quite believe how long it’s taken for him to just say things plainly.
“I think you just don’t see yourself the way I see you,” he admits quietly, a faint, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth.
That hits softer. More careful, less like persuasion, more like truth. Steve shifts slightly in his seat, turning just enough so he’s fully facing you now.
“When I say you’re beautiful,” he continues, slower, “I don’t mean it as a line. I don’t mean it as something I say because I’m trying to get you to feel a certain way.” His voice dips a little. “I mean it like a fact.”
Your breath catches faintly at that. Your throat feels thick, a small, helpless breath leaves you
“I see you,” he says, quieter now. “And I don’t know how else to explain it except… it’s not complicated for me.” He swallows, then adds, a little more honestly. “I totally understand if you’re not interested.”
That makes your head snap up. “What?” The word comes out quicker than anything else you’ve said tonight, instinctive, almost startled.
Steve pauses, like he didn’t expect that reaction. Like he thought that part would be the easy out for you. “I just mean,” he starts, a little more careful now, “if you don’t feel the same way, or if this isn’t something you want, I get it. I don’t want to—”
“But I do feel the same way.”
Everything goes still. Steve just looks at you, like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right, like this is the one moment he refuses to misinterpret.
“You do?” he asks, quieter than before, like he doesn’t want to break it.
Your heart is racing, but you nod anyway. “Yeah,” you say, softer now, but steadier. “I just didn’t think it mattered, because I didn’t think you—” you stop, exhaling lightly, “I didn’t think you felt the same.”
Something in his expression shifts. Relief, first. Immediate and unguarded. Then something warmer and deeper, like everything he’s been holding back finally has somewhere to go.
“Okay,” he breathes, almost a laugh under it, like he can’t quite believe it. “Okay, wow…”
Steve lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“Wow…” he repeats, softer this time, like he’s trying to steady the moment instead of rushing past it.
He looks at you again, really looks, like he is taking you in like something that finally makes sense.
Your lips press together, a little breath of a laugh escaping you. “Yeah… wow.”
That makes his smile grow, just slightly. Warmer now, easier. There’s a pause, but it’s not heavy anymore. It’s full, like something has settled into place between you instead of sitting wrong.
Steve shifts in his seat, turning more toward you, one arm resting along the back of it, not quite touching you, but just close enough that you feel the heat of his skin.
“So,” he says, a little tentative again, but not pulling back. “We’ve both just been into each other and completely missing it?”
You nod, a little sheepish. “Looks like it.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “Unbelievable.”
A small silence settles, but it’s not awkward, just new. His gaze drops briefly to your hands in your lap, then back up to your face. There’s still a hint of nerves there, but it’s different now. Not fear of rejection, just wanting to get this right
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
You nod.
“Can I take you out?” he asks, and this time there’s no joking, no deflection. “Like, properly. No confusion. No… me apparently being terrible at flirting.”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re not terrible.”
“I am with you,” he counters, but there’s a smile in it.
You hesitate for half a second, not because you don’t want to, but because this is the part where things become real.
Then you nod. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
Steve exhales, something in his shoulders finally relaxing fully, like he’s been braced for something all night and can finally let go of it.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Great.”
“Great,” you murmur, a shy smile in your lips which seems to melt Steve completely. It’s instant, the way it softens him. Like whatever nerves were still clinging on just give up at the sight of it. His expression warms in a way that’s almost unfairly gentle, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second before he catches himself, dragging them back up to your face.
The word lingers between you, simple and a little shy on both sides. Neither of you moves right away. Then Steve shifts just slightly, like he’s resisting the instinct to fill the silence with something easy or familiar. For once, he lets it stay.
His gaze drops again, brief, almost involuntary, to your lips, then back up, slower this time. Like he’s not pretending he didn’t do it. Checking in with you, always checking.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Yeah?” Your voice comes out just as quiet.
He hesitates, and for a second you can actually see the moment he decides not to hide behind anything this time.
“I’m trying really hard not to mess this up,” he admits, a small, self-aware smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I…” he starts, then stops himself, exhaling softly. “I don’t want to assume.”
“You can.”
The words leave you before you can overthink them, soft and certain. Steve stills for half a second, like he needs to make sure he heard you right. You give him a little nod, the corner of your mouth curving again, just slightly, like you can’t quite help it.
That tiny shift is what does it, it’s all it takes. Something in his expression shifts, the last bit of careful restraint loosening into something warmer, more honest. His hand lifts, keeping the motion slow, not tentative in doubt, but in respect, like he’s still making sure you’re with him every step of the way.
It brushes your cheek, settling there gently, grounding.
“Okay,” he murmurs, almost like he’s reassuring himself now. His own lips lifting in a faint, almost disbelieving smile. And then he leans in.
The kiss is soft and unrushed, like neither of you is trying to prove anything. It’s not overwhelming, not uncertain either. It’s just right, like something that’s been building for a long time finally has somewhere to land. For a second, everything else falls away. No overthinking, no second-guessing.
When he pulls back, it’s only a little, his hand still resting lightly against your cheek, his forehead almost brushing yours.
He lets out a quiet breath, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding it, and then a small, almost disbelieving smile pulls at his lips again. His thumb traces a slow, absent line against your cheek, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that this is real.
You let out a tiny breath that turns into a giggle without meaning to, the tension finally draining out of your shoulders all at once, and Steve notices immediately. His smile shifts, warming further at the sound, like it settles something in him too.
“That was nice,” you say softly, a little shy again now that the moment has fully landed.
Steve’s smile deepens at that, like the simplicity of it somehow gets him more than anything else. “Yeah,” he agrees immediately, voice low and warm.
His thumb pauses against your cheek, just for a second, like he’s letting himself really register you there, still close, still real, still choosing this. You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you like he can’t quite stop. Like it’s effortless now. Like it was always going to be you, once you both finally caught up to it.
“You’re smiling a lot,” you point out quietly, a little amused.
“I know,” he says, without even trying to hide it.
That makes you giggle again, soft, breathy, still a little overwhelmed. Steve’s eyes brighten at the sound, like it’s his favorite thing in the world already and he didn’t know it until now.
“What?” you ask, still smiling.
He exhales through his nose, almost laughing too, then shakes his head slightly.
“I just,” he starts, then stops, clearly deciding there’s no point pretending anymore. His hand shifts slightly against your cheek, more certain now. “I really like you.”
You go a little still at that, like it still catches you off guard, even after everything. Then you soften. “I know,” you whisper again.
His expression changes at that, something tender and relieved all at once, like hearing it back makes it feel safer to exist out loud.
“Good,” he murmurs. A beat. Then, quieter, almost playful now that he’s steadier. “‘Cause I’m probably going to keep saying it.”
You smile, leaning in just a fraction this time instead of pulling away.
“I don’t think I mind,” you admit.
“Good,” he echoes again, softer this time, like the word has settled into something deep and comfortable between the two of you. His smile lingers, easy now in a way it hadn’t been earlier, like he’s finally stopped bracing for impact.
You bring a hand up to his forehead, brushing a loose strand of hair back without really thinking about it. Steve goes still for a second, like even that small touch is something he wants to memorize properly. Then he leans into it slightly, not enough to move away from the moment, just enough to make it feel like he’s choosing to stay right there with you.
Your hand lingers for a moment longer than it needs to. “You’re still smiling,” you whisper, softer now, like it’s almost unbelievable.
He lets out a quiet laugh, barely there. “Yeah,” he admits again, like there’s no point pretending otherwise anymore. His eyes flick down to your mouth for a second, then back up, slower this time. “I think I might just keep doing that around you.”
“Good, I like your smile.”
“Yeah?” he asks quietly, like he wants to be sure he heard you right.
You nod, still close enough that it doesn’t feel like either of you really wants space yet. “Yeah,” you say simply. “I do.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, a small breath of a laugh slipping out again. “That’s good to know.”
There’s a pause. Not uncertain, but warm. Steve’s gaze lingers on you a little longer this time, steadier, like he’s getting more comfortable with the idea that he doesn’t have to overthink every second anymore.
Then, quieter, almost like he’s letting you in on something simple and true. “I like yours too.”
Your smile widens at his words, and his widens at the sight.
“Are you gonna follow me to the door?”
He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head a little, still clearly not fully recovered from how easy everything suddenly feels. “Of course.”
The answer comes so quickly it makes your smile tug a little wider. Like there was never really another option in his head.
He shifts first, reluctantly breaking the stillness, but even then he doesn’t really create distance, just enough to move with you instead of staying frozen in that moment, like he’s aware of exactly how much he doesn’t want to let go.
“Let’s get you home pretty girl,” he says with a wink, and you can’t help but giggle at it. Steve’s grin widens immediately at the sound, like he’s filing it away somewhere important.
It’s only a few steps to your door, Steve walks beside you, close but not crowding, his hand brushing yours once, then again, like he’s testing something. The third time, his fingers curl gently around yours, hesitant for half a heartbeat before settling.
You glance down at your joined hands, then up at him. He’s already looking at you.
“What?” he asks, a little smile tugging at his mouth.
“Nothing,” you say, but your thumb brushes over the back of his hand anyway.
His smile softens. “Okay.”
It feels easy in a way that makes your chest ache a little.
He squeezes your hand, just a little, like he felt what you did without you having to say it. You reach your door too quickly
You both stop there, a little closer than necessary, your joined hands still between you like neither of you has remembered to let go.
Steve glances at the door, then back at you, a quiet kind of reluctance settling into his expression.
“I guess this is here we say goodnight.”
You look at him, still close, your hand still in his. “Guess so,” you say softly, though you don’t move to open the door.
His eyes flick to your lips just for a second, then back up. It’s slower this time, like he’s not pretending he didn’t do it. Steve exhales softly, almost like he’s steadying himself.
“I’m really trying to do this right,” he murmurs, voice low, honest in a way that makes your chest tighten.
Your thumb brushes lightly over his hand again, a small reassurance. “You are.”
His gaze lingers on you at that, something easing in his expression.“Yeah?” he asks, quieter.
You nod. “Yeah.”
That small confirmation seems to settle something in him. He shifts just a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that the space between you feels intentional now. His eyes flick to your lips again, then back up, checking, always checking.
“Can I…” he starts, then pauses, a faint, almost nervous smile touching his mouth. “I know I already did, I just… wanna make sure.”
Your heart skips, but you nod, soft and certain. “You can.”
That’s all he needs. He lets go of your hand, settling his palms at your sides, thumbs brushing lightly against the fabric there, grounding himself before he closes the distance. His gaze lingers on yours for one last second, soft and searching, making sure. Then he leans in.
You tilt your head just slightly, closing the distance just enough to meet him halfway, like you’re both arriving at the same place at the same time. His lips find yours softly at first, like he’s still holding onto that care, that need to get it right, but it only takes a second before it melts into something more certain. Something deeper, something steadier. Like he’s finally letting himself feel it instead of holding back.
Your hand tightens slightly where it now rests against his chest, and he responds without thinking, his hands on your hips squeezing lightly as he presses you a little closer into him. Usually you would be slightly insecure about the way you’re being held right now, the awareness of your body making you overthink things at the worst possible moments.
But right now, that thought doesn’t get very far. Because the way Steve is holding you isn’t about anything like that at all. It isn’t judgment. It isn’t expectation. It isn’t anything that asks you to be smaller, different or anything you arent.
It’s just him. Warm hands at your sides, steady and careful in a way that makes it feel like he’s choosing you in a way that doesn’t require you to become anything else to be worth choosing.
His touch at your hips remains firm enough to keep you close, but gentle enough that it never feels like pressure. More like reassurance. Like he’s making sure you don’t drift away, not because you could, but because he doesn’t want to risk a single inch of distance right now.
The kiss itself slows without either of you deciding it should. It just naturally softens at the edges, like both of you are exhaling into the same moment. His breath catches lightly against yours. When he pulls back, it’s only by a fraction. Close enough that his presence still wraps around you. Close enough that the rest of the world feels like it’s a long way away.
His eyes stay on yours for a second before anything else happens, soft and unreadable in the best way, like he’s still taking you in, still quietly surprised by how real this feels.
Then he lets out a quiet, almost disbelieving breath, like he’s trying to steady something inside himself that’s finally loosened.
Goodnight,” he murmurs, softly, like he doesn’t quite want the word to create distance.
“Goodnight Steve,” you whisper back, like you’re saying it carefully, like anything louder might break the quiet between you.
Neither of you moves right away. There’s still that small space between you, but it doesn’t feel like distance. It feels like a pause, like something neither of you is ready to end just yet. His gaze lingers a second longer, even softer now, almost reluctant, before he finally lets go of you.
“I’ll call you,” he says quietly, like it’s already decided, like there’s no world where he doesn’t.
A small, almost shy smile pulls at his mouth afterward, softening the seriousness of it, but not the meaning. His hand slips away from your slowly, reluctantly, like even that feels like too much space all at once. Still, he doesn’t step back immediately.
Just lingers there for one more second, looking at you like he’s already counting down to the next time. Then, finally, gently. “Tomorrow,” he adds, softer.
“Tomorrow,” you echo, barely above a whisper.
The word lands softly between you, simple and certain. His smile warms at that, like it’s exactly what he wanted to hear. For a moment longer, neither of you moves. The space between you feels suspended, like the world is holding its breath just to let you have this.
Then he finally steps back, slow and reluctant, eyes still on yours as if he’s memorizing you one last time before distance becomes necessary. Even then, he doesn’t fully let go of the moment, just eases out of it gently, like he knows it isn’t ending. Only pausing. It’s only the beginning.