Work Text:
You are having the worst day ever.
Or, well, one of the worst days ever… in your life. To be fair, it’s nothing too bad, or at least nothing that requires you to rush to your mandated guidance counselor visits that your parents and teachers force you to attend for what you deem ‘no reason at all,’ so you’ve stayed quiet about it and sucked it up. Now though, you can’t really do that.
You’re currently sitting alone on the curb in front of Hawkin’s High, way after hours, deeply regretting your carelessness that led to the destruction of your walkman. It’s the only thing that managed to clear your mind enough to not focus on your miserable life, and now it’s gone. Which is great (not!).
You sigh, placing your head in your hands and silently humming the lyrics to a song you listened to earlier in the day. You haven’t made an effort to go ahead and walk home yet, both because you’re tired, and you also really don’t want to face the nosy neighbors assuming things about you and why you came home late looking like a wreck.
“Stupid piece of junk…” You curse, shaking the walkman in your hands, but to no avail. It doesn’t work. And you know it won’t.
The sun is slowly setting, and as the rest of the remaining students exit their respective activity buildings, you look down, avoiding their confused and judging gazes which you’ve already faced enough of today. A naive part of you wants to ask someone for a ride, your legs too tired for the long walk all the way to your house, but the logical part quickly scuffs that thought. It’s obvious nobody would agree to that, at least not when it's you who’s asking.
You start fidgeting with your hands, bouncing your leg while the reality of what you’re doing sets in. You start feeling stupid.
The sounds of laughter and cars full of reckless students zooming by deafen your thoughts, until you’re once again left alone, now with literally nobody around. At least before, you knew there were people around, but now… You’re fully alone.
You once again start fidgeting with your broken walkman, scuffing your converse on the worn road. Lost in your thoughts, you fail to notice the car slowly driving towards you, stopping a mere few feet away from where you’re pathetically sitting.
The car honks, startling you and nearly making your heart leap out of your throat. You look over to the sound in confusion. You don’t recognize the car.
A figure quickly opens the driver's door, jumping out and jogging towards you. Before you can utter out a word, the oddly familiar guy sits next to you, far but close enough to where you know he’s purposely choosing to be near you.
“Hey, uh,” He begins, flashing you a timid but confident smile, “you look lonely.”
You smile sarcastically, “Thanks,”
He seems to realize his words, and quickly rushes to correct himself while you continue to stare at him in confusion, and if you’re being honest, a little… fear. Which is normal considering the very odd circumstances.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, I– You look familiar.” He finishes, looking you up and down in thought.
You squint, mimicking his movements. He has big, perfectly styled hair, and a few distinct moles on his face that make him appear more unique than he already looks. He has a typical jock face, and you’re sure he’s from here, but you can’t place a finger on it. A few seconds later, you feel a lightbulb light up in your head,
“...Steve Harrington?” You ask carefully, not fully sure of your discovery.
He lights up with a small grin, “In the flesh!”
His confirmation confuses you even more. Even if you don’t know Steve Harrington, you know of him, which is pretty much a given with how much he’s gushed about at school, and from what you’ve heard… he’s not one to talk to people like you. Like, at all.
It’s not like you’re a loner or a ‘freak,’ but you’re definitely not popular, or respected like some of the others at school. So… you’re apprehensive. You start to wonder who decided to pull this prank on you, and when it’s going to start souring your mood even more.
Steve notices your skepticism, and moves a little farther away from you. You appreciate the gesture.
“I’m not here to make fun of you or anything, I was just passing by and noticed you alone,” He fidgets with his hair (which you now realize is perfect, and wasn’t just something people said to talk), leaning forwards. “I thought you might need a ride or something.”
You allow a small smile to grace your face, “Still driving around your old highschool? Your glory days are over, Harrington.”
Steve sputters, “That’s not even– I have better things to worry about than this shithole, trust me. The last thing I want to do is be associated with it again.”
You raise an eyebrow in surprise, studying him carefully. He’s being honest. “Really? From what I’ve heard, you basically used to run this place.”
“Yeah, well… That doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.” He admits. You nod in understanding, still surprised.
Steve rushes to change the subject, nearly startling you again. “So, you need a ride? To… anywhere? I mean, I’m not doing anything so–”
“I’m fine, thank you.” You decline his offer. Steve deflates.
He looks around, watching the sky darken even more. Then, he shoots a look at you. “Are you sure? It’s getting dark, and after everything that’s happened, I don’t think your parents would be fine with you being here all alone.”
Your heart squeezes a bit at his honest concern, it not being something you see a lot at school. Or anywhere. You have to admit that he’s right, though. It’s not safe. But you’re also still suffering with your own thoughts, and mourning the death of your walkman.
“I know, it’s just… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Steve looks at you quizzically.
You roll your eyes, despite knowing that his confusion is justified. “I mean, I don’t know why I don’t want to go home. I don’t know why my mind is just… not shutting up today.”
You don’t know what made you be so honest with your feelings with him, but you’re weak to stop it. Maybe it’s the genuine concern in his eyes, or the way he talks to you like you’re more than a stranger, but his presence comforts you.
“I get it,” Steve offers, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “Sometimes I just feel like total shit even when I’ve had the best day ever.”
You laugh weakly, “That hasn’t exactly been my case today.”
He smiles at you. “Doesn’t have to be. Your feelings are still justified.”
You look into his eyes, searching him. He’s been hurt before, still is, you can tell. It’s not to say you’re a professional at reading people, but… you can just tell. He looks away.
“Not to brag, but I’ve been told I’m good at listening. If you… want to talk.” He finishes awkwardly. You find it endearing.
“Not much to talk about.” You stare down at your shoes, at your dirty bases and stained laces. You bite your lip. “It’s just been a rough year. I don’t know why I’ve been suffering the consequences so badly today.”
Steve nods, “It’s been like that for everyone, whether they experienced something directly or indirectly.” He follows your gaze, comparing your very used shoes to his own clean, pristine ones. “The mind likes to occasionally remind people of things they’re trying to bury.”
You consider his words with a tired sigh. “You seem to know about that.” You tease.
His eyes widened playfully. “Don’t I? I lost the, like, love of my life to the guy who beat me up and saw people die all in the same month.”
You bite your cheek, worried. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” His brows furrowed in confusion,
“For acting like this when you’ve–”
He cuts you off, finger raised, almost as if he’s scolding you. “Don’t finish that sentence, lord, you don’t know how much I’ve heard things like that. Your pain is your pain, just because others went through different shit doesn’t mean you’re invalid, man. You live your own life, don’t let others' experiences dictate it.”
You stay quiet, absorbing his words. He’s right, you know it, of course he is. Now, though, you just feel worse for bothering him.
“I know, I just… I’m tired and stressed and–”
He cuts you off again, “It’s okay to feel all depressed and face your feelings, if you don’t, you just become… weird. Trust me, when Dustin bottles up his feelings, he’s unbearable–”
Now it’s your turn to cut him off, “Henderson? You know him?”
Steve stares at you, open mouthed. “Uh, yeah, we’re, like… best friends. Brother and Brother, dude.”
You laugh, “I feel bad for assuming all these things about you, and just… rolling my eyes whenever I heard people talk about you. You’re nothing like they describe you to be.”
“Because they only know what they care about. Nobody there cares about me as a person.” He sighs dejectedly, “Wait… They still talk about me? Fuck?”
“You have to see the way people talk about you, they never shut up about your ‘reign.’ Or your hair.” You explain, grinning.
Steve lightly fluffs up his hair, “Is it like you’ve always imagined?”
“Even better.” You admit,
Steve grins back at you, and for a moment, you feel happy. For the first time today, or, well, this week. You look down at your broken walkman, limply holding it up.
“I wish this thing was as good as your mane,” You say sadly, rolling your eyes and letting drop down between your legs.
Steve grimaces, “Oh, that’s broken bad. How did you manage that?”
“I got too confident and threw my backpack thinking that I placed it in the perfect spot.” You confess, an embarrassed blush lighting up your face.
Steve laughs, scooting over to you and picking it up, looking at the cracked and bent plastic. “If you don’t mind something a little used, I have one back in my car. I only listened to three songs on it.”
You raise an eyebrow, “Are you trying to kidnap me?”
“Me? Kidnap you? I listen to ABBA, c’mon now,” He jokes, standing up and dusting off his pants. “Offer still stands, if you dare and take the risk.”
You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt. “I’m down for a little danger today.”
Steve nods, and as he jogs back to his car to retrieve his walkman, you let your face relax. You realize that yeah, today was absolute shit, but at least it wasn’t all shit. And at least Steve Harrington isn’t the asshole of the century like others said he was.
He suddenly stops, turning around in excitement. “I got it! You’re (Y/N), the one with the loud ass dog!”
You laugh, watching as he turns back around and bounces over to his car even faster. You like him.