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daydreamgirl8 · 2 years

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She Drives Me Crazy part two.

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART ONE

Steve Harrington x fem!reader[33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

She drives me crazy and I can’t help myself.

By week four, you were in need of a break. And when a scheduled day off of yours finally aligned with Robins, you wasted no time in organising some time out of camp. A small trip to another nearby lake, one without yelling kids and sun bleached kayaks.

The sun was high, the air was warmer than ever and the promise of a day in the water sounded like magic. You wanted green lakes, blue skies and roads lined with trees. You wanted the mountains in front of you and the camp in the distance for a few hours, music that you got to pick, and a bikini that wasn’t uniform regulated.

You’d packed a cooler, cans of beer that Jonathan had snuck into camp for you both, sandwiches from Bob and you a pile of junk food that would go great with the joint Robin had been tasked from getting from Eddie.

You didn’t expect your friend to meet you at the staff parking lot with the boy in tow, grin sheepish and her baseball cap jammed backwards on her head.

“Hey, Munson,” you greeted easily, if not a little confused. You stood by your car, cooler at your feet, looking between the pair.

Something suspicious was going on and it tugged at your gut.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” he smiled, eyeing up your car like it was being evaluated. “Yeah, I don’t think this gonna fit us all, y’know.”

You turned, wide eyed to Robin and she flushed before kicking at a stray rock.

“Come again?”

Eddie grinned, slapping a hand to your shoulder before gesturing to Robin. “Buckley invited us to join you both. She said music, swimming and food, and I was all, how could I say no to that?”

But you weren’t really listening to much else the boy said, the summer turning warmer around you because all you could focus on, all that seemed to matter was:

“Us?”

But then another bag was being dumped beside yours, the smell of cedar and mint and boy filling the air and you didn’t even bother looking before you were shaking your head at Robin.

“No.” You stated, deadpan. “No, no way.”

Steve grinned, leaning against your car like he hadn’t a care in the world and he tilted his head towards Robin and Eddie, rolling his eyes as he said, “see?”

It was unfair that he looked good, soft jeans that weren’t as tight as the ones he usually wore, the knees worn and ripped from time. But in the time that you spent observing him, eyes trailing up and down the tall length of him, you didn’t notice how Steve did the same to you.

Not that it mattered. ‘Cause you went back to glaring at Robin, palm thrown out to gesture at Steve and you didn’t really care that the back of your hand rapped against his chest.

“Ow,” he muttered.

You ignored him.

“Why is he here?“

You didn’t care that it sounded like you were whining, voice petulant if not a little panicked because the idea of spending an entire day at a lake with Steve Harrington filled you with a cacophony of emotions. Your stomach tumbled, twisted, dipped.

Instead of Robin answering, Eddie raised a hand like he was a kid in a classroom, smiled all soft and warm at you.

“‘Cause I am.“

You groaned. It was extremely difficult to be mad at Eddie Munson.

“I need out of this camp just as much as you do, princess,” Steve scoffed, “Henderson keeps going on about someone called Vecna and how he needs a bard.”

“Well, take your own car!” You grumbled, toeing at the backpack he’d dropped by your feet. It felt heavy, cold with the cans of beer that were shoved inside. “Find another lake, preferably far from ours and deep enough so that no one will be able to find your body.”

“Charming,” Steve snarked, but he was already peering into your car windows, a frown on his face. “Yeah, no, my car needs an oil change and the nearest mechanic doesn’t open ‘til Monday.”

He pulled at your back door, ignoring your squeak of protest and you burned when a cassette or two fell out, followed by one trainer and an empty Gatorade bottle.

“Jesus Christ, I’m not getting in this.”

You shoved at the boy, your shoulder nudging his until he relented and moved aside, letting you slam the door. You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyance already simmering in your chest, an all too familiar feeling.

“As if I’d let you,” you huffed, “besides, the seatbelts don’t work in the back.”

“Have I told you recently that your car is a piece of shit?”

You glared at Steve, overly aware that you were once again standing far too close to each other and that you most definitely had an audience. You didn’t really have an argument, you knew your old car was lacking in several areas. Speed, reliability, cleanliness, maybe.

“Not everyone’s daddy can buy them a shiny BMW, Harrington.”

“Don’t act cute,” Steve tutted, “I bought that car myself.”

You rolled your eyes before pushing away from him, shoulders nudging once more in a final act of defiance. The birds were singing, the morning was bright and you were already far too angry for what should have been considered healthy.

But then Eddie was clapping his hands together, still grinning wide beside Robin and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing towards the old van that was parked at a weird angle beside the trees.

“Guess I’m driving, huh?”

The minute the bags were loaded in the back of Eddie’s van, Robin rushed to the passengers door, hopping into the seat with a grunt and grinning as she hung out the open window.

“Sorry, lover boy,” she called to Steve, eyes innocent except for the wicked flash of a smirk across her lips. “I get travel sick.”

“That’s a damn lie,” you glared at her, wondering how this morning had gone to shit so quickly.

The temperature was climbing as the early hours slipped away, the sky turning from pink to lilac, blue around the edges and the sun coming through the canopy trees was brighter and stronger than before. You could hear the kids in the mess hall, the smell of breakfast and the buzz of conversation.

Eddie stood between you and Steve, far too amused as the back doors of the van sat open, the shag rug carpet and mismatched cushions waiting. Steve looked at you and back into the truck, eyes wary, like he was weighing up his options.

“I could drive, man,” Steve offered, hands shoved into his pockets and trying to avoid your gaze.

You scoffed, unsure if you were relieved or offended that he didn’t want to spend the hours drive with you, trapped in the back together.

Eddie tried to smother the smile he couldn’t help but give him, fist pressed to his mouth and he levelled the other boy with a mirthful stare.

“Really? I thought you hated driving my van?”

Steve didn’t know what to say.

“I mean, you can if you want,” Eddie told him, his voice all caramel soft, he sounded like he was goading Steve when he turned to you, all sticky sweet smiles, “I don’t mind riding with Hawkins here, I’ll keep you right when the road gets bumpy.” He winked and offered his keys to Steve, silver dangling from a ringed finger.

The only sounds came from the forest.

Then, a sigh, rough and low, before Steve pushed past Eddie and his outstretched hand, the keys jingling as they went ignored.

“Doesn’t matter, your clutch is fucked,” Steve clambered into the back of the van, gaze steady on the floor as he threw himself down onto a beanbag, ignoring Robin’s snickering. “It’s annoying as shit.”

Eddie grinned.

The drive was silent for the most part, at least for the first twenty twenty minutes. The road out of camp took you through the forest, past the river that led to the lake and when the cabins were too far away to see, you finally relaxed.

Until Robin made a fuss of finding some music that wasn’t Black Sabbath or any other band she’d declared migraine inducing, and finally she held up a cassette with a small noise of triumph.

“Prince, Eddie? Didn’t peg you as the type,” she told him coyly whilst Steve snorted from the back beside you.

“Hey now, Prince is perfectly acceptable,” Eddie argued, the tips of his ears turning red under his curls. “I am a man of mixed taste.”

“Sure you are,” Robin placated as she slid the tape into the player.

The roads were becoming less smooth as you neared your destination, favouring smaller, forgotten lanes as you passed the bigger lakes, flashes of blue and green flying past the small window in the back.

The journey became more bumpy as you all turned off into a track that took you through a part of a forest, the van manoeuvring itself over overgrown roots that interrupted the trail, a too big rock making the truck shake. And as the opening guitar riff of Prince’s ‘Kiss’, started to play, you were sent into Steve’s side, the van bouncing with Eddie’s efforts to get you all to the water's edge.

You scrambled to right yourself, moving away from the boy as if you’d been stung and the sudden proximity was jarring. You’d managed to spend the majority of the journey on either end of the van, backs pressed to the metal sides and you’d only just moved into the middle so you could lean over the front bench to take a handful of M&M’s from Robin.

But the jostle of the drive meant that you landed on Steve’s lap, clumsy and in no way meant, but your back was suddenly pressed to his chest and out of instinct, his hands caught your waist before your head could jerk back and slam into his nose.

‘I just need your body, baby, from dusk 'til dawn…’

“Fuck,” you whispered, desperate to not draw attention to the position the two of you were in, but Robin was snickering and Eddie caught sight of you in the rear view mirror and he let out a low whistle.

“Christ, kids, at least wait until Robin and I are out.”

“Fuck off,” you and Steve both snarled, voices mixing as you shoved away from each other.

The rest of the drive went like that, no matter how much you and Steve tried to cling to opposites of the van. The road got rougher as the lake came into view, blue green water meeting bluer skies, the beginnings of mountains and forests lining its edges.

Your shoulders brushed with Steve’s, hips bumping, hands falling onto tops of hands, pinky fingers grazing as you both tried to stay upright and by the time the van parked up beside a sandy dip in the grass, you were both burning with the exertion of the journey and all the casual touching.

Steve burst out of the van before anyone else, the engine not even switched off and the back doors brought in fresh air, bright sun and the smell of pine.

The lake was on the smaller side, no jetty’s to tie a boat to, no long stretches of beach that became home to little kids and their buckets and spades. In fact, the four of you were the only ones there. The silence was dizzying, the views almost too pretty, and it was complete bliss before Eddie jumped out of the driver’s seat and grinned.

He threw his hands up, his head back, messy curls tumbling as he let out a loud whoop, a noise that bounced off of the cliffs before the forest on the other side of the water swallowed it whole.

You smiled properly for the first time that morning, Robin on your left, Steve on your right, as you all watched the city boy tear off his shirt, jeans abandoned on the way before leaping into the shallow water.

The day went like that.

Genuine happiness from four twenty somethings that were just trying to do enough to get by. You knew your co-workers loved Camp Upside Down as much as you did, it’s why you all returned summer after summer. But there was something different about being able to stretch out along sand, Robin’s head resting on your bare stomach ‘cause you’d pulled your shirt over your head the minute you’d lay down.

Your unbuttoned shorts showed off the edges of a cherry red bikini, something you weren’t allowed to wear during work. The boys splashed in the lake, the campfire burned and you’d even reluctantly shared your lunch with Steve - half of your sandwich for some of the potato salad he’d managed to scrounge from that day's lunch prep.

It was the burn of the sun and cool lake water, sand between your toes, stolen towels from camp, the smell of smoke and the taste of lukewarm beer. It was quiet, it was loud, it was the crackle of Eddie’s van stereo flooding out from its open doors, it was power naps with your cheek pressed to your bundled up shirt, watching Eddie throw himself from tree branches, laughing until your stomach hurt and it was not arguing with Steve Harrington.

Not really.

Not like before.

And when Eddie retired to the back of the van to close his eyes and get out of the sun for a bit, Robin swam back to shore and got herself comfortable in the sand, a sketch pad in one hand and a case of pencils at her still wet feet.

It left you and Steve together in the lake, deep enough that your feet couldn’t touch the bottom and you swam lazy circles around each other, floating on your backs, water lapping at your ears and your chin tilted up to the sun.

It was nice. It was easy.

Every now and then, the lake pulled you both closer, bobbing on what little current there was until your outstretched fingertips brushed the boys and you were both startled from whatever daze you’d fallen into.

Eventually, you couldn’t find it in you to care too much, not when it happened again and again and again. Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the heat, maybe you were just too lazy. But it’s how you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with Steve, bare legs brushing, skin slick with lake water and leftover sunscreen.

You kept your eyes closed when you finally spoke, like it would make you braver, like you could keep your words a secret.

“Why do you hate me?”

There was a pause after you spoke, a dead space in the water between you both and you could feel that Steve had opened his eyes. The water moved, splashed at your cheek and you felt his head turn, his gaze on you.

“Who said I hate you?”

The tips of his fingers were still brushing yours.

You laughed and it sounded nervous, a soft noise of embarrassment, like a girl with a crush. You didn’t know how to feel about it.

“You argue with me about everything, you look like you wanna kill me every time I open my mouth near you and you’re constantly finding new ways to wind me up.” You told him casually, like it was nothing new, like it was normal. And it had been, for as long as you could remember. “I’d say that insinuates an annoyance, at least.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you, princess.” Steve smirked, “what if arguing with you was the best part of my day, huh?”

His reply made your eyes flutter open, heavy as if you’d been pulled from sleep, from a dream and the sudden reality of your situation made you dip further into the lake, your legs pulling you down and your feet kicked to keep you afloat.

Steve mirrored you, easily treading water as the surface swallowed half his face, his eyes impossibly golden as they stared back at you. You were a foot apart, maybe two, and you realised rather quickly that you missed the closeness of him.

“Don’t lie,” you scoffed but there was something about the way Steve was looking at you that made you feel doubtful. “What’s next, pulling my hair at recess?”

Steve laughed, a genuine burst of amusement from his lips that didn’t sound sarcastic for once. He let himself fall back, the water lapping at his shoulders and he grinned at you, the soles of his feet brushing up against your thighs, just for a second.

“I dunno,” he looked a little pink around the cheeks, his smile nothing short of scandalous. “Would that do it for you?”

Your mouth fell open.

This was a fight that you weren’t sure you could win, his teasing words no longer a taunt, the conversation no longer an argument. Steve looked at you with the same fire he always had though, a challenge in his eyes that you desperately wanted to rise to. It wasn’t really a fight, no, not anymore.

But you still wanted to win.

“Guess you’ll never know,” you shrugged, smug when Steve grinned wider.

—————

The drive back to camp was a world away from the journey in the morning. You climbed into the back of the van with Steve without argument, all four of you soft and lazy from a day under the sun, hours treading water, throwing your tired bodies from small rocks and cliffs.

The sun had warmed the truck, the air smelling like boy and coffee and a little weed, and you were slack as you fell into the cushions, not really caring that your foot was pressed against Steve’s thigh.

Robin turned the radio on, the tinny crackle of static making the music seem softer and Eddie hummed along as he drove, the trees outside creating dappled shadows across everyone’s sunburnt skin.

It was nice, it was peaceful.

Your hair was still damp, your skin smelling like sunscreen and the lake, lemonade and cheap beer on your tongue and you didn’t really care when the rough road out of the forest sent you bumping into Steve’s side again.

His hand caught your waist to steady you, a wide, warm palm on bare skin because you hadn’t bothered to button your shirt back up, the sides hanging open on your shoulders, the bright red of your bikini a reminder of the day spent in the water.

Your shared conversation in the lake hung in the air as Eddie drove you all home, the long haired boy and Robin oblivious to it. But it fizzed in the back of the van like a firework waiting to pop, the anticipation of wondering what colours would fill the air when it did. It felt like the slow climb to the top of a rollercoaster, it felt like the night before a storm, it felt like what if?

When you arrived back at camp, dinner was over and the kids were lingering, heads tilted to the sky that was uncharacteristically dark, navy clouds looming overheard with the threat of rain. You’d left the sun behind, hanging over a different lake, along with a different side of yours and Steve’s relationship.

You didn’t know what to say when the four of you clambered out of Eddie’s van, Robin and the other boy talking happily about music and Robin’s sketches, rucksacks over their shoulders as Steve awkwardly handed you the empty cooler.

You mumbled a thanks, suddenly shy and you stood at the back of the van, waiting to see if Steve would say something, if you would be brave enough to say anything.

But then the sky split, the clouds crashed and rain tore down on the camp.

You all scrambled under the canopy of the trees, yelling swears between laughter and the sound of the kids screeching was drowned out by the rumble of thunder, the on-shift counsellors telling everyone to return to their cabins.

No one really said goodbye, the rain making you all run to your bunks, the day ending without so much as another shared glance. So you tripped through the trees with your hair plastered to your forehead, laughing when Robin stumbled in mud and shrieked. By the time you both made it home, you were giggling on the porch, skin soaked, shirt and shorts sticking to you and Robin was wide eyed.

“Wait! I’m going to Vickie’s!” She almost shouted, barely heard over the roar of the rain, the rumble above.

You laughed, incredulous as you watched her run back out into the downpour.

“You’re what?!”

“Vickie’s cabin!” She called back, “no one’s gonna care where everyone is when we’re all stuck inside!”

And then she was gone, probably for the night, you assumed.

That’s why you were surprised when there was a knock on the door fifteen minutes later, the rain still falling, the day turning to night quicker than normal as the clouds stayed heavy, the forest dark.

Everywhere smelled like damp moss and pine, wet bark and the lingering smoke from the campfire that had long been ruined. You’d only managed to drag a brush through your hair, the strands tangled and partly dry, your shorts uncomfortable on your skin and your shirt hanging off one shoulder.

You answered the door, not sure who to expect, not sure why Robin would be knocking, why anyone would be out in this weather.

When you saw Steve standing there, you realised that the boy hadn’t even been an option. Surprise coloured you, mouth falling open at the sight of him on the porch, drenched, shirt sticking to him, almost translucent and his hair a wet riot.

He was holding a blanket, the soft knitted one you’d taken from your bed to use on the beach that day. It was half soaked from where he’d hidden in under his arm, running through the rain from his cabin to yours.

You stared, shocked.

“I think, uh, I think I shoved this in my bag by accident.”

He was yelling over the dim of rain, the world noisy around you both, the forest creating chaos, a whole other kind of fight. It was waiting, it was wondering if you were going to join in.

“It couldn’t wait?” You cried back, completely bemused by Steve’s decision to come over for nothing more than a stupid blanket.

But the boy was struggling to respond, shoulders shrugging, cheeks pink and looking a little wild. Thunder grumbled above, the trees swayed and a drop of rain slid down Steve’s cheek, rolling over the curve of his lip.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, voice too honest, “it probably could’ve, yeah.”

It happened like the storm, the slow roll of electricity over your skin, a building in the atmosphere, something in the air that told you that something big was coming.

And Steve was still standing there, chest heaving like he couldn’t catch his breath, and neither could you when he was looking at you like that.

Rain soaked shirt, brown hair sticking to his forehead and falling into his eyes, all flushed cheeks and parted lips.

“Was that everything?” You asked, voice almost too quiet to be heard over the sound of thunder above, the sky goading you, telling you to say something else.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” Steve said and it sounded like a lie, it sounded too sweet. “Maybe? I- I don’t know.”

You swallowed, chest bursting, heart pounding, ‘cause it felt like you were supposed to be waiting for something more, something spectacular, something that you were supposed to give into a long time ago. And then:

“Christ, fuck it-”

He was crashing into you, arms tugging you into him rather than wrapping around you and you let him, Jesus fucking Christ, you let him, a gasp that sounded like a moan falling from your lips as he kissed you.

Your hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, the other tugging into his damp hair and the sounds he made against your mouth were obscene. Nothing about this was gentle, nothing about Steve was soft. He was pushing you both backwards, into the cabin and out of the storm with his hands gripping hard on your waist, crescent moon marks left on your skin and it was sinful, it was too good, it wasn’t enough.

You pulled where he pushed, tugging him into you, the door slamming shut and the rain pounding in the wooden roof. The kiss was messy, heated, another fight you both wanted to win.

It tasted like the storm, like mint and the woods and Steve, and it said: fuck you, fuck me, I don’t hate you at all.

It was a kiss that was wildly different to the one you shared at the gym, the one with an audience, a kiss that was supposed to be nothing more than a dare. This kiss was all teeth and tongue, wandering hands that grabbed at exposed skin, pulled and shoved shirts out of the way so you could touch and touch and touch.

The lack of sun outside made the cabin a little darker, the small light by your bed casting nothing but a weak glow and moody shadows, perfect for hiding feelings in. You pulled Steve into the room, clumsy feet tripping over a shoe or two, the strap of a bag, the blanket that he dropped to the floor in favour of holding you.

No one spoke, not apart from letting out hushed curses, swears that sounded like prayers, unholy noises that came from the back of your throats, whines and begs that came from years of tension.

Robin's notebook hit the floor, pencils and pens rolling with it when you stumbled into the desk and Steve grabbed the backs of your thighs, hauling you onto it. He was licking into your mouth with a greed you’d never experienced before, a hand on your cheek, telling you to tilt your head this way and that so he could kiss you deeper, kiss you filthier.

It was fun to fight back a little, grabbing at the hair at the nape of his neck in return, fisting it in your hand and pulling until he groaned for you, lips faltering against your own and attacking your neck instead.

Your legs were around his waist and you weren’t sure how it happened. You knew you didn’t mind, you didn’t care, not anymore. Because Steve’s hand was curled around your knee, hiking your leg further up his hip so he could move into the space between your thighs.

The sounds you were letting out were a little pathetic, small sighs and whines, asking for more without saying the words and all you could do was pull the boy into you and open your mouth for him when he used his thumb to tug at your bottom lip.

He kissed you like he wanted to argue about it afterwards.

“Shit,” you gasped, eyes rolling back when he rocked into you, body pressed against yours, all wet clothes and rain damp skin. “Steve.”

The groan that ripped from his chest was absolute sin, lips leaving yours to press his face into your neck, his hands flexing on your hips.

“Say that again.”

You were confused until you realised that you weren’t sure of the last time you called the boy by his actual name. No Harrington, no wonder boy, no asshole, no douchebag.

At least, not right now.

It made your head swim, the hold he had on you, literal and figurative, because for the first time in your life, you did as the boy asked.

It was a whimper against his ear, mouth moving deliberately against the shell of it, all dirty and coy. Your lips brushed his earlobe, your hand cupped his jaw and you canted your hips into his, just the once.

“Steve.”

A dam burst and you couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous Steve Harrington looked when he lost all the composure he liked to pretend he had.

“Oh god, holy shit,” he was back on you, all lips and tongue and teeth and hands, “you sound so fuckin’ pretty, so good, fuck.”

You whined in response, a high, keening noise that you didn’t even recognise but you were on fire, burning in all the places that his lips touched. You weren’t gentle with each other, hands grabbing, tugging, getting as close as you possibly could and you needed more, now.

“Steve…”

He moaned again, whispered your name back to you like a prayer and god, he was right, it sounded so good coming from his lips like that.

“What d’you want?” Steve asked, low and rough, his lips on your neck, skating across your pulse. “What d’you need, huh? Tell me.”

You wanted everything, all of it at once. You wanted his lips, his tongue, his mouth, you wanted his hands, you wanted him naked, you wanted him under you, above you, against you. You wanted his noises, you wanted to make him moan, to make him swear, to make him throw his head back and call out your name.

You wanted him.

You wanted Steve fucking Harrington.

Instead you said, “-want more, need more.”

Another groan, a disbelieving sound, one that you shared with him, because Steve was running the flat of his palm across your throat, fingers curling briefly before they splayed out and ran the length of your body.

They trailed down your chest, down between the thin, red straps of your bikini, between the open sides of your shirt and they landed on the still wet band of your shorts, a finger tapping across the button.

“D’you want me to touch you?”

Jesus Christ, you couldn’t stand it. You squirmed on the desktop, legs tightening around the boy’s waist to gain some much needed friction but Steve moved his other hand to your thigh, holding you still.

“C’mon baby, use your words,” Steve murmured. “You’re usually so good at that.”

Baby.

It shouldn’t have made your heart stutter, it shouldn’t have made you wetter than you already were. But it did, fuck, it did.

You leaned back, hands on the table and chest heaving, your shirt sliding from your shoulders and your head hitting the wall. You stared at the boy through your lashes, lips parted and glossy from his kisses.

You looked wrecked and Steve fucking adored it.

“Touch me,” you wriggled again, hissed when he tightened his hand around the curve of your thigh, a delightful sting on your skin. “Steve.”

He huffed out a laugh then, mixed with a moan, and he smiled at you, sticky sweet. “Say please, princess.”

Absolutely not.

“In your dreams, Harrington,” you gasped out, a laugh lacing your breath.

‘Make me,’ is what you meant.

Steve tsked, grinning. “So stubborn,” he said.

‘Challenge accepted,’ is what he wanted to say.

And then you were kissing again, deep, slow passes over each other’s lips, teeth catching, tongues soothing and the boy swallowed every moan and gasp you gave him. His hand found your neck, cupping it to move you the way he wanted, head tilted so he could kiss you even harder.

Steve kissed like he argued, like it was his favourite hobby, like he wanted to have the last word, steal the breath from your lungs and leave you shaking.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tugged a little mean when you nipped his lip almost too hard and you surprised even yourself with the sound that left your mouth.

Steve pulled back from you, just a little, just so his nose brushed against yours and you could see the dark glitter of his eyes.

“Well, would y’look at that,” he murmured and his voice was tougher than you’d ever heard, sticky honey and a storm, “I guess you do like that.”

You were reminded of your conversation in the lake and you flushed, hating the smug expression on the boy’s face, hating that you liked it even more.

Steve was real fucking pretty when he was proving you wrong.

But you didn’t say anything, didn’t give him the satisfaction of an argument, you just just shoved him backwards, following the way he stumbled until you were pulling him back into you, pushed onto your toes so you could catch his jaw with your hands and press your lips back to his.

“You’re insufferable,” you told him between kisses, voice too breathy to carry any real heat.

“Yeah?” Steve shot back, grunting a little when you pulled at his shirt, his arms flying up so you could pull it off of him. He stood, shirtless, chest heaving and gazing at you like you were something to eat. “I could say the same about you, sweetheart.”

And then he was turning you, walking you backwards with his mouth on your neck until your body hit the wall and his fingers were back on the button of your shorts.

He sucked a bruise on your throat, all pretty and sharp, lilac on your skin and he nosed at it, humming thoughtfully.

“Say please,” he told you again, a finger dipping into the denim, scratching soft against the red edge of your bikini. “Be nice for me, princess, huh?”

It was dizzying, his words. His touch. His breath on the column of your throat, his hair brushing your jaw.

Another kiss, sweet and soft, jarring in the way he held you to the cabin wall, body hard and solid against your own. His thumbs pressed circles into your hips, soothing and a silent reminder that you could stop this whenever you wanted.

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you.”

It was too sweet a deal to say no to. Especially when Steve was looking at you like that, like he wanted to give you the world, like he’d been waiting an age just to touch you like this.

So you let out a huff, more whimper than protest and your hands fell to his jeans, damp with rain and tight for other reasons. You cupped a palm over him, hard and thick inside the denim and you were close enough that your lips brushed over Steve’s when you spoke.

“Please,” you whispered.

He was popping the button on your shorts before the words left your mouth, groaning and canting his hips into your hand as if he couldn’t help himself, as if this was all suddenly too much.

You slipped your shirt from your shoulders, the wet smack of it hitting the floor as you both toed off your shoes, a different trainer hitting a different corner of the cabin, patience gone as Steve slid the flat of his palm down the curve of your tummy, fingers reaching into your bikini bottoms to find you slick and ready for him.

“Oh shit,” you both gasped out together, your hands flying to grip Steve’s shoulders, nails digging into the muscles there as his fingers dragged through your folds, thumb finding your clit, his middle digit easily sliding inside of you.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart,” Steve groaned, eyes falling shut as he leaned into you, forehead to yours and his free hand pulling at your knee, hitching your leg back to his hip so he could push his finger into you a little easier.

It was a slow drag, a white hot burn that had you clawing at him, already teetering. It was almost embarrassing, almost. It would have been if Steve wasn’t rutting against your hip, desperate as you were, looking so, so pretty and wrecked.

“D’you always get this worked up when we argue?”

You thought he was joking, and you were about to tell him off, the bite of your response on the tip of your tongue, but your body had other ideas. You clenched down on him, involuntarily, hips stuttering at his question and he swore into your mouth, delighted.

“Fucking hell,” he moaned, another kiss, quick and dirty, “you fuckin’ do, don’t you?”

“Of course you’d run your mouth,” you snarked, but still, you tilted your head back for the boy, just so he could suck another kiss onto your throat. “Why am I not surprised?”

He grinned against you, all teeth and curled his finger into you, hitting a whole other spot. Another hot drag, slipping out of you before he pushed back in again, two fingers moving a little faster, his thumb running circles.

“Somethin’ tells me you like it,” Steve told you, smug.

And god you did, you really fucking did.

You didn’t satisfy the boy with an answer, you just whined, pressing your lips back to his as you chased the high you were desperate for. Steve seemed to catch on pretty quick, surprisingly in tune with the way your body was reacting to him and he curled his fingers in and out of you a little quicker, mouth hovering over yours, noses bumping, panting softly.

“I’m gonna come,” you told him, your hands buried in his hair. “Steve, fuck!”

His hand that was still gripping your thigh was the only thing holding you up, Steve’s body pinning you to the wall and was smiling, victorious as you tightened around him, your face pressed into the crook of his neck as you came, soft sounds falling from your lips.

“Aw fuck,” he hissed, “that’s it, there you go princess.”

The boy coaxed you through it, murmuring soft, sweet praises, telling you how pretty you sounded when you came, how good you felt around his fingers. It was too much and it wasn’t enough. And when you shrugged off the hazy warmth of your orgasm, you were quick to move into Steve, lips back on his as he slipped his hand from your shorts and grabbed at your waist.

You walked him backwards, in charge now, smiling against his mouth when he groaned into you.

The backs of Steve’s thighs hit your bed and you pressed one more kiss into him, a little mean when you nipped at his bottom lip and then shoved him. There was a satisfaction in watching him fall into your mattress, eyes shocked, lips parted and before he could say anything, you hooked your thumbs into your shorts, pushing the denim down your legs.

The cherry red bikini was the only thing you had left on, the straps of it slipping down your shoulders, the bottoms cut high on your hips. You waited to feel the rush of insecurity, the self conscious need to shy away and cover up.

But Steve was staring at you with a slack jaw and flushed cheeks, eyes roaming greedy over bare skin and all the places he could get his mouth on, and that nervous feeling? It never came.

“Pants off, Harrington,” you told him, voice a little too breathy to sound demanding.

He smirked, pushed onto his elbows so he could tilt his head up to meet your gaze. “Always knew you’d be bossy,” Steve murmured and you warmed at the notion of him thinking about this, about you, like that.

“I’m not bossy,” you argued, but then you were on him, straddling his lap in a way that made Steve lose his rebuttal, his argument slipping from his lips as his hands found your waist again.

You pushed him back into your pillows, hands flat on his chest and overwhelming need to make him fall apart like he’d done for you taking over.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, princess,” Steve grinned, tongue caught between his teeth as he gazed up at you through messy hair.

But his smirk slipped from his hips when you settled over him properly, nails pressed into his bare chest as you rocked your hips a little. Steve groaned, loud and unabashed and you think you kinda adored how loud he was about it.

His palms kneaded at your hips, a push and pull that told you ‘holy shit, stop’ and ‘fucking hell, do that again.’

Your fingers shook as you popped open the button of his jeans, hands tugging at the waistband, sneaking under his boxers to find him hot and hard for you. Steve sucked a breath through his teeth, looking a little wild underneath you and his hand shook like yours did when he grabbed at your wrist.

“This is gonna be over way too quick if you keep doin’ that.”

His voice was all rough honey, sweet to your ears, low enough to make your thighs clench around him.

“D’you have a condom?” you rushed out in a sigh, ‘cause you were desperate now, brows knitted together with impatience and Steve tapped at your hip, silently asking you to shift back.

You moved, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as he fished his wallet out of his pocket, hands fumbling with the leather until he pulled a silver foil square out of the back.

“Is that-?”

Steve grinned, all teeth and cheekiness, eyes sparkling. “The one Murray threw at us? Yeah.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or shove at the boy for his smugness, so you did both. A huff of breath falling from your lips, a hand pushed to Steve’s chests in a poor attempt at a scolding and then he was pulling you down with a hand around the back of your neck.

“Were you hoping to get to use it?” You asked, eyes fluttering closed when Steve hooked his fingers under the straps of your bikini. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Harrington.”

But Steve just hummed, unphased by your teasing when he had his lips on your collarbone, pressing a line of kiss to your breast.

“Seemed symbolic, no?”

And then you were on your back, tucked under the boy with his elbow pressed to the pillow, his other hand trailing up and down your waist, taking in soft skin and new freckles and scars, mapping out the scar on your knee, the bruise you got from helping El do a cartwheel on your hip.

You looked up at him then, time slowing with his movements, all soft hands and softer eyes and oh my god, this was Steve fucking Harrington. You weren't ready to admit what this meant, not yet, you weren’t ready to realise what this was.

So you reached up between your bodies to tug at his jaw, fingers spread out to tap at his chin, thumb on the plush curve of his bottom lip.

“You gonna kiss me or what?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he huffed and he tried to look annoyed, he really did but Steve kissed you anyway, heat flooding you both, the rain battering louder on the roof as you pulled at his jeans, pushing them down his hips.

“I- god, shit,” Steve was mumbling, voice cracking at the feel of you under him, against him, body squirming for friction, for him.

You pushed at him, lips still moving against his, giving him all your soft noises, rolling you both until you were on top again, precariously close to the edge of the bunk, sheets rumpled.

“Of course you wanna be on top,” Steve snarked, but he couldn’t hide how his eyes were glassy, how needy his hands were as they tugged at your bikini and you laughed as you raised your arms for him, letting him pull the swimsuit off.

You’d never felt more powerful when you smiled down at him, saccharine sweet. “Don’t you like it?”

Steve was speechless. Just for a second or two, at least.

“Yeah, I really fuckin’ do,” and oh, his voice sounded too sweet, a little broken and wild, all husky just for you.

Everything snapped, the tension, the waiting, the storm outside. The foil packet crinkled as Steve ripped it open and the air fizzed when he rolled it onto himself, tip already leaking at the sight of you waiting for him.

Neither of you had the patience to allow you to move off of him in order to take your bikini bottoms off, neither of you wanted to stop touching for that long. There was a new found desperation when Steve sat up, back against the headboard as you crowded over him, gasping and sighing into the mess of his hair when he pulled your bikini to the side, swiping his fingers through you.

“So wet,” he whispered, lips pressed to your chest, teeth grazing skin, kisses pushed to every part of you he could reach. “You hear that, babe? How wet y’are for me?”

You were on fire and yes, yes you could. It was obscene in the best way, intense and a little dirty, and you watched in awe when the boy pulled his fingers away from you, sucked them into his mouth instead and soothed your responding whine with a pet to your hip.

“Shit, shit, shit- Steve.”

“I know, I know,” he cooed, voice far too soft and gentle, and Jesus, he was still trying to tease you. “Tell me what you want, yeah?”

But then the charade fell when you sat up and slipped over him, hard tip nudging against you before you blew out a breath, groaning as you took him all.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he was clawing at you, hands pushing at your hips to make sure you didn’t move just yet, eyes clenched shut as his forehead fell against yours. “Oh good girl, good fucking girl, princess.”

That did it for you, that little gush of praise and it had you clenching around him, making you both moan. You rocked your hips, once, twice, against Steve’s tight hold until eventually he helped you. Strong hands lifted you up and down over him, the slick, hot slide of the boy making you dizzy.

He whispered your name, moaned it, gasped it out on a hot breath that fell across your cheek and you pushed a palm to his jaw, held his chin in your hands to make him look at you and you felt the boy throb as you did it.

“My name sounds so pretty when you say it,” you murmured, repeating his previous words back to him and he groaned and laughed, hips canting up into yours with a snap.

The bed was moving against the wall, a dull thud, thud, thud that was hidden by rain and thunder, but Steve still grinned when you moaned louder than ever, his hand pushed to your mouth to muffle your sounds.

“So noisy, huh?” That taunting tone was back, the one that made you press yourself down onto him a little harder, deep enough to make him gasp and grab at your waist. “Oh, you’re too sweet, you know that? So pretty - you know just how to get me all wound up, don’t you?”

You moaned, soft and sweet, to pent up to argue back but you moved a little quicker, made Steve’s head fall back, neck taught and fingertips bruising on your thighs as he kept you spread open for him.

You pulled away from his hand, breath hitching as he twitched inside of you and you mouthed at his throat, lips pressing a scattering of messy kisses there and you trailed them to his ear.

You hummed, a happy noise that came from the back of your throat and you wound your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair.

“You close, hmm?” You gasped, chest pressed flush to the boy’s and you both rocked your hips, a dizzy mess of desperate movements. “Huh, Steve? Are you goin’ to come for me?”

The boy realised your game and he huffed out a laugh, groaning as he tucked his face into your neck, smelling rain and leftover sunscreen, letting you take your hands through his hair, tugging a little when you wanted him to slam his hips up into you.

His hand found its way between your bodies, slick with sweat and rain, thumb running perfect, little circles over your clit as he forced you into the same breathless high that you were pinning on him.

“Christ, yeah,” he grunted, voice shot, every word tumbling into the next, “come w’me? Not gonna last much longer, y’feel too good.”

His voice was a shot of whisky, caramel and sticky sweet when he spoke into your skin, a hand roaming up and down the expanse of your bare back, tongue laving over a nipple, sucking bruises into the dip between your breasts.

You can’t remember a time you had ever felt so needy, it was startling, it was electrifying.

“Steve, Steve, Steve,” you sounded wrecked, and Steve adored it. “Harder, fuck, harder, I’m close-”

Amazingly, Steve was so much more agreeable when he was buried to the hilt inside of you, hands pressing bruises to your hips as he slammed up into you, meeting your thrust for thrust as everything came to a high and you crashed into it together.

“Awh shit, that’s it, there you go sweetheart.”

The boy whispered your name when he came, hips stuttering, mouth pressed to yours as he held you still, your limbs twitching from the aftershocks of it all. Steve petted at your thighs, hands all soft and shaky, forehead pressed to yours as you both panted, trying to catch the breath the other had stolen.

The rain had stopped when you clambered off of his lap, Steve helping you move on your shaky legs as he tied off the condom and tossed it into the bin near your bed. The birds were chirping again when he lay down beside you, both of you half naked, clothes rumpled, hair misbehaving, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

The clouds were lifting, the room not as dark, a stripe of sunlight filtering through the gap in the curtains, gold cutting through the shadows. There was a drip, drip, drip of leftover rain on the porch, the soft gasps from both of you, sheets tangled at your feet.

Quiet passed over you both, skin still tingling, lips feeling bruised from each other's mouths, the taste of Steve Harrington and rain still on your tongue.

I can’t get any rest, people say I’m obsessed.

The last week of summer camp went by in a slow roll. Like the way a camcorder stuttered over its film, lazy and with a soft crackle, memories trapped between sunspots and dust.

Days passed without you being able to see much of Steve, Hopper finally making good on his promise as he kept you both apart, Steve sharing lifeguard duties with Billy and you co-ordinating crafts with Nancy.

The kids kept you all busy, the last few days bringing a new buzz of excitement as the thought of returning back home, to school, to reality, set in. You helped Will finish his painting, watched with pride when he presented it to Will, the other boy awed. Nancy settled arguments between Max and Lucas, raising her brows at you in amusement when you told her that they were fine, they were both just too stubborn. Steve finally taught El how to swim and when Robin caught Dustin and Suzie sharing a shy first kiss behind the old bike shed, she didn’t have it in her to tell them off.

In fact, you didn’t see Steve until three days after the storm, trailing out of Hop’s office after a surly looking Billy, both of them sporting bruised faces and cut lips, Steve’s hair messier than usual and Billy’s red lifeguard shirt was ripped at the collar.

He glared at you as he passed, blonde hair mussed and blue eyes cold, as if somehow, his black eye was your fault. But you didn’t worry yourself over Billy Hargrove’s sour mood, your feet quickly carrying you over to where Steve was.

Catching Steve’s elbow in your hand didn’t feel anywhere as near as unnatural as it did a week ago, your touch almost too casual on him. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, your hand on his bare arm, not really, not after that night.

But you hadn’t spoken about it since, you hadn’t touched, hadn’t pressed your lips back to his. So now, the feel of your palm curled around his elbow had you both burning. Steve stared at you, eyes flickering to where you held him and you swallowed hard, told yourself to be brave and you didn’t let go. He didn’t pull away either.

“Hey,” your voice was a soft murmur, the low buzz of the kids in the mess hall almost drowning you out. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You were frowning as you took in the bruise at his temple, shades of lavender and navy creeping towards his eyebrow, a cut on his lip that was red with dried blood, his hair falling over his eyes like he’d been thrown around.

Steve shrugged, eyes glancing back towards the door of Hopper’s cabin, scowling when he saw that Murray was at the window, watching you both with a mug of coffee to his lips, hiding his grin. Steve took your hand in his, gesturing to the old gym and you would’ve followed him even if his hand wasn’t pulling you along behind him.

Once you were both hidden from the rest of the camp, bodies pressed into the cool shadows that the side of the old building brought, Steve turned to you, a hand still tangled in yours, the other finding the dip in your waist, just because he could. His touch brought shivers to your skin, a feeling you still weren’t used to and you found that you didn’t hate, not at all.

If anything, it made you braver, urging you to take a step closer, your hand taking his chin in your grip as you tilted his head up to the sun, the bruise catching the light and you made a soft noise, a quiet hum. Steve let you push and pull at him, the start of a smile on his lips that you were sure he’d normally try and hide from you, but his fingertips were curling into your staff shirt, pushing it out of the way until his skin found yours and your breath hitched.

“Billy?” You asked, careful.

“No, I’m Steve,” he joked but it was weak, his smile too tired and you huffed, catching his gaze with a stare he knew too well.

It was no secret that Steve and Billy had never seen eye to eye, Steve took genuine offence to the way that Billy treated the kids, too harshly and with rough words, rolling his eyes if they ever got upset, laughing when he managed to scare them.

But it had never come to a head, fist staying clenched by sides and jaws clenched, but Steve tended to try and stay out of fights - for the kids sake if anything.

And you knew that, knew the boy better than you thought, years of living in the same small town, summers spent in the same warm forest making you pick up more than you realised about Steve Harrington.

“What happened?” You asked again, still quiet.

Your thumb ran over the cut on his lip, gentle and if Steve wasn’t in pain, you probably would’ve smirked when he shivered at your touch.

“Jus’ Hargrove talkin’ shit,” Steve grunted, voice rough as if he’d been yelling. Knowing Hopper and Murray, he probably had been. “It’s fine, m’fine, princess.”

The pet name carried so much more affection than it had before, warming you to the bone, skin tingling, cheeks flushed.

You frowned, lips pouted, unperturbed when you dropped your hand from Steve’s jaw and it landed on his shoulder instead, the two of you swaying slightly together, not all that used to touching just yet, but enjoying the closeness nonetheless.

“You don’t usually let him get to you,” you huffed, brows still knitted together and you were somewhat annoyed at yourself for not being there to break the boys apart. Steve had proved himself capable of listening to you now, and you were not above using it to your advantage, especially if it kept him out of the way of Billy’s fists.

Steve just looked at you, eyes all soft, brown sugar and honey, shrugging with a small smile, like he was keeping a secret.

“Stranger things have happened, haven’t they, sweetheart?”

You stared at him, lips parted, wondering if this was another taunt, a tease, the start of an argument, because neither of you had had a chance to talk about what had happened in your cabin that night. You’d both woken up tangled together, bodies lazy and tired, the moon in the sky outside and Robin thankfully still gone. You had wrapped yourself in the sheet that smelled like Steve as you watched him get dressed, cheeks warm and nerves fluttering at your chest.

Neither of you had spoken, but he smiled all soft and bent down to kiss you before he left, his lips yielding on yours, a small noise of something huffing from him as he let you cup his jaw, holding him to you a little longer. The fight seemed to have left both of you, too slow and sleepy to pretend anymore. Steve had traced the bruise he’d left on your neck, pushed your still messy hair from your forehead and kissed there too before he left, the cabin door closing softly behind him.

So you were waiting for a snarky comment, a dismissal, an argument, maybe. But Steve grinned and squeezed at your waist, fingers still brushing warm underneath your shirt and then the bell rang, signalling the end of dinner and you both startled, jumping apart, despite being hidden.

“Steve-” you stopped, laughing embarrassed when Steve said your name at the same time. “Uh, you first,” you told him, achingly shy all of a sudden.

“Do you- uh, you think you could meet me later? By the lake?” Steve asked, squinting at you like he too was suddenly feeling awkward.

You felt like a teenager standing at her locker between classes, the school hall empty and your heart in your throat. You grinned, tried to hide it by ducking your chin to your chest, an already scuffed trainer kicking at the twigs by your feet.

“Are you asking me on a date, Harrington?” Your voice was all soft teasing, warm like the summer and it made the boy smile, cheeks pink, eyes rolling with affection, not annoyance.

“No,” he scoffed and you heard the lie there, heard the warmth. “Shut up.”

You laughed, snorting softly in a way that made Steve grin even harder, both of you feeling uncharacteristically giddy in the presence of the other, and god, you couldn't help but think about how the boy had dragged you into his lap, half naked and desperate.

“I hate you, remember?” Steve whispered it, moving a little closer, a hand playing with a stray lock of hair, knuckles brushing against your cheek.

You hummed and nodded, brows furrowed and lips pursed as if you were indeed, remembering. You remembered how the boy tasted, how he felt, how wild he got for you when you tugged his hair and bit down on his pretty bottom lip.

So you pushed softly at his chest, all strong muscle and warm skin underneath his faded staff shirt and you looked up at Steve through your lashes.

“Yeah, I remember,” you murmured back.

And then the sounds of the kids spilling out of the mess hall finally got too loud, the evening hardly over and there were jobs still to do. You both heard Eddie announce that week's dungeons and dragon’s meeting, a crowd of the kids cheering, Nancy corralling others to the campfire, s’mores and storybook in hand. You had promised Max that you’d swap some mixtapes with her, the redhead and El both at your side during lunch, brandishing old Madonna and a double cassette of Kate Bush that Max said she was sick of listening to.

“Eleven o’clock?” Steve asked, hand brushing down your arm, any excuse to touch you before his palm curled warm around your elbow. “Where the old boathouse used to be?”

You nodded, relishing the last touch before he left, hand in his hair as he walked back out to the chaos of the camp, meeting Dustin on one of the walkways and ruffling the young boy’s curls. You waited until Steve had disappeared into the woods, following the trail that led to where Eddie was setting up his wizard game.

It didn’t take long for you to settle yourself onto a fallen log beside Robin, cheek leaning on her shoulder as Suzie settled herself by your feet, leaning on your legs as El tucked herself into the other side of you. The kids were all enraptured by Nancy, the small crowd lit by the glow of the fire as the girl told stories of three headed dragons and kids with superpowers, little girls and boys who were all strong enough to defeat monsters and nightmares.

And then when the fire was starting to burn out, the night darker, the kids sleepier, you swapped your old tapes with Max’s, sending the girl back to her cabin happier than before. The rest of the camp followed the trails into the shallow parts of the forest, the moon filtering through the branches as they tumbled into their bunks, all smelling like smoke and with marshmallow stickiness on their fingers.

Nancy waited until Robin had been pulled away by a disgruntled Mike, Will on their heels as they claimed they needed an impartial party in order to settle a game debate, Eddie too busy laughing to indulge the boys.

“So,” Nancy murmured, shoulder nudging yours, “you heard about Steve and Billy, huh?”

You panicked at the mention of the boy, a small surge of ‘oh god, she knows’, before you remembered the bruises, the fight that Steve never explained to you.

You blew out a breath and shrugged, suddenly feeling like it was too hard to play normal, like Nancy would look at you and know, like she’d notice the lavender bloom on your skin, hidden by your shirt collar.

“I mean,” you started, voice overly casual, “I knew they tried to beat the shit out of each other, but I dunno why.”

The girl looked at you through frizzy bangs, brows raised and hidden behind her fringe. Her mouth fell into a little ‘o’, surprise colouring her features before she smiled, knowing.

“You don’t?” You shrugged again, following Nancy’s lead as you both made your way around the now empty logs, gathering up chocolate smeared paper plates and forgotten sweaters. The fire simmered between you both, the burnt out logs still glowing and smoking, the faint sound of Hopper’s records playing from his open office window filling the air.

“Hargrove was being his usual self, a complete dick.”

You snorted at Nancy’s words before she continued, still smiling.

“But then he started talking about you,” the girl said, lips twisted, eyes gazing at you. “Kept asking Steve if he thought he should make a pass at you, some disgusting comment about how easy you’d give it up.”

You screwed up your face, unimpressed but unsurprised by Billy’s words and you were standing still, feet planted as you waited for the rest of the story.

“Guess he finally pushed Steve too far, ‘cause before any of us knew it, he flew for Billy, fist straight to his face.”

Your jaw dropped, lips parted, eyes wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Nancy huffed out a laugh, “took Eddie and Hop to break them up, Steve was really gunning for him. But I guess, I can’t really blame him, Billy was still running his mouth even after Steve rattled his jaw.”

“Huh.”

You were speechless.

“I know, right?” the girl smiled and she walked around to take the stack of plates you’d collected, looking at you with the air of suspicious interest that only Nancy Wheeler could manage. “Has, uh, anything happened between you two?”

You baulked, eyes ever wider and you wondered if Hopper’s music was loud enough to cover the thumping of your heartbeat. You laughed, forced, pulled your brows together and scrunched your nose. “What? Who?”

God, you’d never made it as an actress.

“You and Steve,” Nancy replied lightly, settling another inquisitive stare on you. She seemed to be searching your face for clues, for hints. “You’ve been getting along better lately, no arguments.” She grinned, sharp, “it’s been quiet.”

You barked out a laugh, nervous and shy, because she was right, of course she was right, Nancy was always right, she just didn’t need to know the reason why.

So you shrugged again, feeling warm, wondering if you needed to blame the leftover heat from the fire for your flushed appearance. “Yeah, uh, I guess Hopper finally decided to keep us apart.”

Your words sounded scripted, the lie sounded thick and it tasted weird on your tongue. Nancy smiled at you like she knew everything. But she nodded, soft and placating as she sighed and picked up another sweater, chocolate stained, and a hat that looked like Dustins.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I guess.”

----------

Robin was already asleep as you pushed your feet back into your shoes, your friend snoring softly from her bunk, hair covering her eyes, lips pressed into a pucker with her face squished to the mattress edge.

The rest of the camp was somewhat quiet, the hushed conversations coming from some of the open cabin windows, torch lights shining out of cracks in the curtains, whispered stories and secrets lingering in the still warm air. Hopper’s cabin was illuminated in the distance, music still playing softly, the backlit figures of the camp leader and Joyce sipping wine over the desk.

You passed Eddie as you walked towards the lake, sticking to the shadows off of the path, converse crushing pinecones and the boy was leaning over the edge of the railing of his porch, a sneaky joint hanging from his fingertips, the tip glowing a dirty red in the dark.

He caught your gaze, grinned wide and toothy as he raised a hand in a lazy wave and you felt too warm knowing that he was well aware of his own missing bunkmate. Did he know? Did Steve tell him? Did you mind?

“Late night rendezvous, Hawkins?” Eddie whispered, head tilted to look at you teasingly. You flipped him off and he chuckled, low and throaty. “Don’t argue too loud now, you don’t wanna wake the kids.”

And then he winked, stubbed his joint out onto the railing and padded back into his cabin, barefoot and ready for bed.

The camp was darker without the campfire lighting up the main square, the tall trees blocking out most of the moon, the stars white dots between indigo clouds. It got brighter as you neared the lake, skirting the edges of the beach before you waded through the longer grass, the messier part of the waters edge that no one was usually allowed into.

Wildflowers and weeds brushed your bare shins, your pyjama shorts not doing enough to keep you cool, even in the night. The summer lingered in the air, on your skin, leftover sun kissing at your cheeks, your shoulders. Or maybe it was the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side of the lake, who was waiting for you.

So you moved a little faster, crickets chirping in the longer grass, cicadas buzzing from the forest you’d left behind. The moonlight danced off the surface of the lake, the water silver, the air fresh and sharp. Everything was pine and cedar, damp moss and old smoke.

And then Steve was sitting in a clearing in the bush, bare feet dipped up to his ankles in the water, jeans rolled up as he sat on the remnants of an old dock, half of it destroyed by weather and time with the bare bones of the boathouse behind it.

Steve looked up as you approached, hiding his smile by looking back out at the water and he shuffled along the old boards a little, letting you sit down next to him. You pulled your shoes off like he had, tucked your socks inside so you wouldn’t lose them and you sighed when the cool water licked across your feet.

You wish you could say the silence was comfortable, and it was, in a way. The night wrapped around you both like a warm blanket, familiar in a way that only the camp was, smoke and mountain air, fresh water and cedar.

But there was something buzzing underneath it all, an electrical current that carried tension and questions. It fizzed, it crackled. It was stolen glances from under lashes, hands curled around the edge of the dock, close enough for pinky fingers to brush. It was the promise of another kiss, the flushed cheeks of remembering that you had kissed. It was the boom, boom, boom of a nervous heart, that sticky feeling of not being able to swallow properly.

Your shoulders brushed, hands grazed, breath hitched and chests burned. There was a smile on your lips that you were trying to hide, the kind that made your cheeks ache, biting your tongue to stop the sheer giddiness of it all.

“D’you still hate me?” Steve asked, and he sounded like you felt, that hidden smile in his voice, rosy around the edges, the sunshine boy in the middle of the forest.

You laughed, soft and on a huffed breath, chin tilted down so you could watch the way your toes trailed patterns in the water, the way the lake looked like ink underneath you both. You thought about his question, about how you would’ve answered it a week ago, how you wanted to answer it now.

You realised then, that despite what had occurred in that small space in time, the answer would have been the same.

“I’ve never hated you, Harrington,” you told him and his surname sounded so much nicer now, an endearment on your tongue instead of a curse. “Not really.”

Steve glanced at you from under his lashes, brown eyes looking black in the night, the shadows on his face blue and the bruises from Billy looking darker than before.

He smiled, lips curling a soft line, dimples appearing and he looked adorably shy. He nudged you, shoulder bumping your own.

“I don’t know if I believe that, princess.”

You knew he was joking, at least you were sure he was. But you guessed that such a statement required an explanation. So you inhaled the mountains, the forest, the lake and Steve in your lungs, before blowing it back out with all your pride.

“I was always jealous I guess,” you shrugged, eyes on your hand, fingers playing with an old knot in the wooden board you sat on. “You always seemed to get what you wanted. You were so popular, everyone liked you. Even the teachers.”

“Kinda immature, I know,” you flushed, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It just seemed like everything I wanted - everything I worked so hard for - was just handed to you.”

You snuck a glance at the boy, knowing that your words were unfair. Steve wasn’t stupid, he did well in school, well enough to get good grades and get away with being too cheeky every now and then.

“I know that sounds harsh and- and I’m sorry that I always spoke shit about your dad,” you cleared your throat nervously. “About your family, your uh, financial situation… that was never very nice of me.”

It wasn’t a secret that you didn’t live in a house that was as big as Steve’s, or that through middle school, your mom worked two jobs. But you were happy and it wasn’t Steve’s fault. You knew that. You’d always known that.

But the boy only nodded, a knot between his brows and he moved closer until his knee knocked against yours as if he was telling you it was okay.

“No, uh, you’re right,” Steve whispered. He was frowning, like he had only really come to this realisation then. “You’re right, about my dad.”

You didn’t want to be.

“He’s not really around, you know? Neither is my mom. There’s always business meetings, trips out of town, out of state.” He laughed, humourless. “Which is why we stay in that nice, big house, I know but-”

Steve swallowed, face twisted in sadness and frustration and you ached to reach out and smooth away the lines there, the furrow on his forehead, the downturn of his lips. Somewhere in the distance, something small splashed in the lake.

“-but they’re just never around. They never were.” He looked at you, smile sad, eyes sadder. “My dad’s just an ATM. He’s a cheque, a couple of numbers after a report card.”

“Steve…”

He didn’t want your sympathy you realised, he didn’t want pity. But he didn’t brush you off when you lay your hand on his leg, rough denim under your palm, just above his knee.

“My mom was the same, pizza money on the counter, a couple of hundred dollars for the weekend when I was fourteen and they had to go to Memphis -no, Minnesota - I can’t remember. But I was alone the whole week.”

“That’s horrible,” you told him. Your statement was simple, an understanding, a fact, and Steve liked that your voice didn’t soften for him, it didn’t change.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding and pulling the hand that was on his knee into his own. Your fingers tangled with his and your tummy flipped at the roughness of his palm.

“I hated when he pulled that shit, you know? The science fair?” Steve scrunched his nose in annoyance. “He didn’t even stay for the results, to watch me get a prize. He just paid and left.”

Your hand squeezed his a little tighter.

“Your parents were always there,” he murmured and his voice warmed. “I remember in fourth grade, when we changed classes and you were so nervous, your mom was there giving you a hug and your dad was taking photos even though you were crying.”

“I wasn’t crying,” you huffed, voice breathy because you were embarrassed by the memory, shocked that Steve remembered. “You noticed me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

He only hummed, still smiling, both of you leaning into the other more than before, letting the boy take your warm weight as you accepted his.

“I always noticed you,” he said and his sincerity was life altering. “You just drove me crazy.”

It didn’t sound like a bad thing, when he said it like that, when he was looking at you the way he was.

“Did you always hate me?”

Steve grinned, shaking his head as he looked out onto the water. “Never did, princess, I told you that already. I guess I was jealous of you too, huh?”

You were shocked, lips parted, heart heavy. But then you shook your head, thinking of something else to say to clear the weight in the air because you didn’t want to think of fourteen year old Steve in that big house all alone anymore.

“I work here to save for college,” you told him, like it was supposed to be a secret, like Steve hadn’t heard you talk to Dustin about it before. “My grades weren’t quite good enough to score me a scholarship so-” you trailed off, gesturing uselessly to your staff shirt you were still wearing.

“I failed my Chemistry exam,” Steve told you in return, voice unaffected. “Then I told my dad I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to college, that I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do.”

You turned to look at the boy, traced the lines of his face with careful eyes, the slope of his nose, his jaw, the curve of his cheek.

“He cut me off,” Steve said simply, “we don’t really talk anymore. So I’m tryin’ to save up for my own place.”

“In Hawkins?” You asked, because nothing else seemed to matter.

“Anywhere,” Steve answered. “Where d’you wanna go to college?”

“Anywhere,” you told him and it felt like a confession.

His smile was blinding.

—————

Steve kissed you behind your cabin, the forest your only audience. He pressed you into the wet wood of the wall, just like he had done the days before, rain on his skin and his lips on your neck.

But this felt like a first kiss, it felt like the first time. No one dared you to do it, no fight or challenge in either of your bodies and it made you melt against him all slow and soft, butterflies in your stomach, your heart in your throat.

It still felt new, it felt like a crush, like something to wake up and look forward to in the morning, like the first day of summer, the morning before camp began.

Steve kissed you lazy and deep, like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to swallow you whole like then night. He tasted like mint toothpaste and soda, the fizz of it making you buzz, cherry and sugar on your tongue. He brought his hand to your cheek, fingertips pressing gentle to your skin, his thumb soothing over the sting of his teeth on your bottom lip.

It made you push up onto your toes, chasing his mouth, your hands in his hair and making him bend down for you, sighing all happy like he didn’t care you were telling him what to do.

He kissed you like he wanted to keep you.

It was hard to pull away from each other, even when the rest of the camp was asleep and the night was drawing into early morning. You craved the touch of the boy you’d always kept at arm's length, amazed at the way you responded to him so easily, so desperately, like your bodies were both yelling at you, asking ‘why weren’t we doing this all along?’

You wanted to tell him your secrets, you wanted to share your summer. You wanted to ask what this meant, but you were too scared, maybe still too full of pride and the idea of going back to Hawkins and being rejected was too much to bear.

So you took the stolen kisses behind the cabin, hands touching bare skin under shirts, edging just shy of being scandalous, the sounds of your soft breath mixing with Steve’s and it was dizzying.

It was enough for now.

You went to bed with one more kiss still fizzing on your lips, a new mark pressed on your neck, hidden under hair and matching the one you had given the boy. Steve watched as you walked into your cabin, footsteps soft and the shy squeak of the door made you both cringe but Robin stayed asleep.

You waved goodnight, eyes tired but your heart still thumping, and when Steve raised his hand in response, a smile on his face that had the shadow of shyness, you wanted to squeal.

It was ridiculous, this giddiness, this new feeling for the boy you’d known for so long. It wasn’t all that different though, being pressed up against Steve Harrington as he kissed the breath from you. He still made you wanna bite back, kiss him harder than he’d kissed you, a sense of a challenge lingering around you both at all times.

It just felt more fun now.

—————

Hopper seemed almost disappointed that he hadn’t managed to collect more damage money from you and Steve. There had been a mason jar sitting on his desk from day two, a haphazard sticker on it with the words `therapy savings' written in sharpie. After the kayak incident, there had only been a few more dollars stuffed into it, some loose change for snarky comments made at meetings and one green M&M that Eddie had managed to throw into it from across the room.

But the camp was still standing after another year, the buses and cars of parents littering the spaces between the cabins as the kids dragged out too big duffel bags, yelled about lost games and forgotten socks.

Some kids lined up to hug you goodbye, El and Will sniffling softly into your t-shirt as your own tears fell into their hair, your arms wrapped tight around them. You’d see them next year, like you always did, when they were older and taller and less likely to throw themselves into your arms in greeting.

Dustin told you all about a radio he was building, something that would allow you to chat to him through the school year and he was handing you a scribbled note with all the best walkie talkie brands on it and numbers for different frequencies. He let you mess his curls one more time, his grin wide and his cheeks pink.

Lucas and Mike helped you load your bags in your car, despite their parents standing waiting with smiles on their faces. You pestered them both into a hug, both of them pressed to a shoulder as you told them to be good and stay out of trouble.

Your voice didn’t really crack until Max appeared, Walkman around her neck and another cassette in her hand. She tried to look casual about it when she handed it to you, a piece of tape stuck to the front with the words ‘love from Max’ written on it.

“Maxine,” you gasped, all faux shock and she rolled her eyes. “You made me my own tape?”

The girl shrugged, one hand pulling at the end of a braid as she scowled, trying to keep the pink from her cheeks.

“It’s no big deal,” she muttered to the ground, “your taste in music needed expanding.”

She said it huffily, but she meant ‘I’ll miss you.’

“Thanks kid,” you whispered, throat tight, eyes glassy and you nudged your shoulder into hers. She pressed her head to your arm in lieu of a hug, saving that one show of rare affection for Lucas instead.

Then she was gone, along with the rest of the kids, and the camp was finally quiet again.

Billy picked up his wages and left without saying goodbye to anyone, duffel bag dragging on the ground as he grabbed a greyhound out of Indiana, face still mottled with bruises from Steve’s fists.

Robin left with Eddie, the boy telling her that he’d drive her home instead of her having to share the same fate as Billy, shoved on a bus during the high heat of the day. She didn’t take much convincing when Eddie jumped into the driver seat and started blaring Prince from the radio, curls messy as he grinned at her.

“C’mon Buckley, you can’t say no to me.”

And she didn’t.

They boy hugged you tight before they left, Robin promising to write, promising to visit and Eddie lifted you off of your feet, crushing you to his chest as he whispered in your ear, “look after my boy, huh?”

They left in a plume of dust and dirt, the sound of ‘purple rain’ trailing behind them.

Nancy and Jonathan were next, the girl doing one last round through the cabins, arms full of forgotten drawings, a lone teddy, seventeen odd socks. Then she hugged you, eyes fond, leaving with her boyfriend for a week's holiday in his hometown before promising you that she’d catch up with you back in Hawkins before college started.

It left you and Steve alone in the staff parking lot, sun shining, blue skies, green forest and birds chirping.

He was leaning against his car, arms crossed like the way he was looking at you was no big deal, smile all soft and familiar now, like that’s the way he’d always looked at you.

Maybe it was. Maybe you’d never noticed.

You pressed your hip into your own car, eyes full of trouble as you gazed at him expectantly. Steve raised his brows, smirked like he wanted to argue with you, like he wanted to kiss you.

“Race you home?” He asked and god, his voice was honey, sweet and warm, capable of stopping you in your tracks.

You laughed, patting the hood of your old car affectionately before telling him, “nah, my car is slow as shit.”

Your callback to his own words at the beginning of camp made him bark out a bright laugh, genuine amusement in his eyes and he shook his head, lips twisted.

“Glad you can finally admit it, princess.”

You wondered if this was a goodbye, if this was it. You wondered if you were supposed to talk about what had happened, if this kiss you shared behind your cabin meant the same to Steve as it did to you. If you were supposed to go back to sharing the same town and calling each other names like you hadn’t been on top of him.

So you waited, a beat of silence, a roll of summer washing over you both. The breeze picked at both your hair, stray stands blowing across lips and mouths and you sighed, soft, wanting.

“Uh, there’s um,” Steve was scratching the back of his neck, eyes fond on you, smile all nervous. “There’s this diner in Lowell, they do a pretty good burger.”

You grinned, happiness beating out of you like the fucking sun.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve called back, grinning just like you. He looked pretty, softer than you once knew him, all wild curls and caramel eyes, new freckles on his nose, the bruise you gave him faded on his throat. “D’you wanna stop for lunch?”

You could’ve sworn the only sound in the forest was your heart.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Harrington?”

You waited for the scoff, the teasing, the taunt. You were so used to the quick, sharp bite of a reply, that when he shrugged all slow and lazy, head tilted to look at you from under his lashes, you were surprised.

“Yeah,” he told you again.

It was such a simple reply. One word, so sincere, heart stoppingly sure.

You ducked your head, hiding your grin, your flush, the way your eyes must’ve been glittering. It felt a little magic, a little manic, that feeling of something new.

It felt like a first kiss, a boy touching you during a thunderstorm, like the taste of rain, the smell of campfire smoke. It was all Steve fucking Harrington.

So you nodded, took a breath, took a chance, grinned and opened your car door.

“I’ll meet you there.”

3K notes · View notes

daydreamgirl8 · 2 years

Text

She Drives Me Crazy

CAMP UPSIDE DOWN PART TWO Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[33K] summer camp, broken kayaks, too much tension and that boy you hate. an enemies to lovers camp counsellor story.

I can’t stop, the way I feel.

Camp Upside Down was about eighty miles outside of Hawkins, Indiana, just past Belmont and hidden amongst the trees of the YellowWood State Forest.

It held too many kids, a collection of old wooden cabins, a few impressively sized lakes, sports equipment that was made in the sixties and Steve fucking Harrington.

It’s not like you had always hated the boy, you just couldn’t really remember the last time you liked him.

The first of June brought blue skies, summer rolling in with thick white clouds, the kind that didn’t look real. The Indiana air was warm and hazy, growing hotter in the afternoon, long days, bright nights and the return of fireflies and open air pools.

Each year you left Hawkins behind, a kiss pressed to each cheek by your parents, your old car packed to the brim as you headed west for six weeks, to your home from home, buried between cedar trees, amongst giant redwoods and overgrown wildflowers.

You rolled out of town and took the sun with you, windows down, radio blasting music and static, that soft buzz that you loved so much. You sped past the water tower, the quarry and the wheat fields, the strawberry patches and the forest that no one liked to wander too far into.

You hated that Steve Harrington followed, his car newer, shiner, faster. You hated when he overtook you on the straight, before you had even had a chance to leave town. So you would hang your arm out the window, middle finger poised in a pretty salute just for him and he’d send you one back, like clockwork, like you’d practised it, like it happened every year.

If you could get close enough, your car bumper threatening his, you could just make out the scowl behind his raybans, the twist of his lips cursing you out in the reflection of his rear view mirror.

It went on like that for the whole drive, never stopping unless the boy did, refusing to fall behind, because bathroom breaks were for losers and you did not fucking lose to Steve Harrington.

It was flat out, foot down, wind whipping in on the highway; a game of cat and mouse, curses yelled over the radio, hair messy in your face, just pushing the speed limit until overhead signs and four lane roads turned into something else.

It’s like the sun got softer when you turned off the freeway, the light hazy between the trees and it made this part of the world seem like it was just for you.

Single track roads took you through the forest, past rivers and lakes, mountains in front of you, Hawkins behind you and the air was sharper, muddled with pine and moss, still wet tree trunks from the morning rain, wildflowers and something too sweet to name.

Smoke threaded through it all when you got closer to camp, the big wooden archway greeting you like an old friend, the cabins appearing through cracks in the forest, the doors open, staff carrying in pillows and sheets, prepping for the arrival of the kids in a few days time.

And when you pulled your car into the staff parking, a clearing between trees behind the big gymnasium, you turned off your engine, closed your eyes and listened to the little slice of peace you’d get in your six week stay.

No kids, no screaming, no arguing, no singing. Not yet.

Just bird calls and the buzz of insects, soft wind between branches and the slow crackle of the main campfire if you strained your ears hard enough.

“Your shitty car gets slower every year, princess.”

You swore, low under your breath, the soft “for fuck sake,” mixing with a sigh as you let your head fall onto the seat and you opened your eyes.

Steve was standing at your open window, hip leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed, expression smug. He grinned at you.

“Harrington,” you greeted, a drawl that lacked any sort of warmth, tinted with annoyance instead.

The boy tsked, sarcasm dripping from him as he leaned in, arms on the window ledge, peering into the car and peering at the pile of cassettes on your passenger seat.

“Blondie? Really?”

You swatted at him, brows knitted together already because you’d been at Camp Upside Down for quite literally three minutes and the boy was already doing his best to infuriate you.

“That’s not very nice,” he told you but he was still grinning. “You didn’t miss me?”

You pushed the car door open, knocking Steve out of the way in the process and you scowled as you popped the trunk, turning to him with a glare.

“Miss you? I saw you at the store two days ago.”

Steve watched you haul out your bags, snorting when you let them fall to the forest floor without much care.

“Yeah, but you called me a dickhead and hit me with your cart.”

“You yelled across the store and asked me where my cauldron was.”

You set the boy with a stare, a little dead behind the eyes, just like you’d perfected. Your lip twitched into an almost smile when you let another bag tumble out of the trunk, narrowingly missing the boy's foot when he flinched out of the way.

Steve shrugged, tongue pressed to his cheek to stop his grin as he stared at you right back.

“It was a valid question.”

You slammed the trunk, your gaze on the boy withering and you kicked at one of your bags. You hated this part.

“Are you gonna help me with these?” You really didn’t know why you were bothering to ask, because the boy was already backing away, hands shoved into the pockets of his Levi’s and he was still fucking grinning.

“Why would I do that?” He questioned. “Besides, I only came round to tell you Hopper wants everyone in the office. Now.”

You glared at Steve, seething, lips parting with a high pitched scoff as you threw an arm out and gestured to all your belongings, most of your life packed into four too big duffel bags.

“You fucking just watched me unload the car.”

Steve hummed happily, too far away for you to throw a pine cone at. He tutted, all faux concern and sad brown eyes.

“Damn, I did, didn’t I?” And then he was walking away, heading to the offices that were housed in the row of cabins by the lake. “Don’t be too late, princess, Hops already in a shitty mood.”

——————

Camp leader Jim Hopper, was indeed in a foul mood when you arrived twenty minutes later, out of breath and just as annoyed as he was.

The cabin was full, bodies squeezed between desks and the moth-eaten couch was piled with people. Faces new and old stared back at your sudden entrance, the scowl that was already on your face only deepening when Steve, who was leaning lazy against a wall, wiggled his fingers at you.

“Hawkins,” Hopper barked, “how nice of you to finally join us. You think after doing this for four years, you’d know that the first day meeting is always at eleven o’clock sharp.”

Hopper's habit of calling people by their hometown should’ve been insulting, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a teddy bear looking man, moustache twitching when he was either annoyed or amused, but he had soft eyes and an even softer patch for the camp kids.

When you first pointed out that there were three counsellors that came from Hawkins, he merely started calling you Hawkins number two, so you tended to not remind him after that.

“Sorry,” you huffed, not sounding all that sorry, and you glared at Steve as you squished yourself between Eddie Munson and Robin Berkeley. Buckley.

“Okay, shitheads, listen up,” Murray, Hopper’s right hand man, stood with a clipboard, thick rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. “Roll call.”

“Muson, music. You’ve got three new kids that have signed up for private guitar lessons, you’ll get their info by tonight, make sure you check in with Joyce at reception.”

Eddie Munson, one of the older boys nodded, long, dark curls already frizzy with the warmth that the forest trapped beneath its canopy. Originally from Pittsburgh, the boy was still dressed in his leather jacket, a denim vest that had ripped sleeves and a giant Dio patch sewn messily onto the back, ready for a metal concert rather than s’mores around the campfire.

“And for the love of god, wear the proper uniform this year.”

On cue, Hopper started throwing out the mandatory shirts, white and years old, the sleeve cuffs red, just like the printed ‘staff’ on the back, in bold, capital letters.

“Nancy, you’re moving up this year, senior counsellor,” Nancy Wheeler, another Hawkins native, nodded sharply, her hair clipped back and uniform already on. “We’re gonna need the first week's schedule done for the kids arriving at the weekend and christ, make sure these idiots turn up for their shifts.”

Robin snorted from beside you and Murray rounded on her, a finger pointing accusingly. “Buckley, any more missed shifts from you this year and you’ll be on clean up duty for every dinner shift. Bob wants you in the mess hall tomorrow for lunch prep.”

The girl scowled, mumbling under her breath about how it wasn’t her fault she never heard the morning tannoy. A pretty girl from Detroit, Robin was all ripped jeans and backwards caps, sarcastic comments and sleeping wherever she could make herself comfortable.

Hopper threw a shirt at her, grinning when it landed against her face with a soft thump.

“Jonathan.” The boy who was busy fiddling with the camera around his neck suddenly looked up, eyes wide as if he’d been caught half asleep. “The parents are more than happy to buy more of the photo packages this year and we need new prints for the newsletters so we want content, content, content. No slacking and distracting your girlfriend or you’ll be sleeping on the other side of the lake.”

Jonathan Byers, from Bloomington, just a few hours from Hawkins, mumbled an agreement before walking over to sit by Nancy and resting his head on top of hers.

“Hargrove,” Hopper barked from behind his desk, ��you’re back on sports but we’re a lifeguard down this year so you’ll be splitting shifts with Harrington.”

Billy Hargrove, California bad boy, was sliding an unlit cigarette between his lips, getting the tip slick as he grunted his agreement. He caught his staff shirt as it flew through the air at him, winking at you when he tucked it into the waistband of his too tight jeans.

“And for fuck sake, Billy, no non staff members in the cabins after six,” Hopper groaned, “I’m not having screaming mothers at my door at one in the morning this year, corrupt the girls of Indiana on your own time, not mine.”

“You two,” Murray finally rounded on you and Steve, a sardonic grin pulling at his lips. “Lovebirds, you’re both on games and swimming.”

Steve and you both huffed out a protest at the term, features pulled into a scowl and you flipped off both Robin and Eddie when they chuckled.

“And Jesus Christ, if any more of your lovers' tiffs result in more broken equipment, it’s coming out of your wages.”

You scoffed, a sound of protest as Steve swore. “Bullshit, what broken equipment?”

The rest of the team snickered as Hopper levelled you with a stare from over the top of the computer screen. Murray snorted from behind his fist and even Steve had to try to hide his grin at your words.

“There’s three cracked kayaks, fourteen broken tennis racquets and a box of punctured basketballs sitting behind the gym as we speak, sweetheart, don’t even go there.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself off of the couch, grabbing Robin’s hand and yanking her up with you when she batted at your arm.

Everyone else shuffled to their feet, leaving the few newbies in the corner, wide eyed and worried as they waited for their orientation.

Hopper glared at the seven of you as you lined up at the door, restless and waiting to escape to your cabins, to steal some food from the kitchens when Bob wasn’t looking.

“No drugs,” Hopper announced before Eddie could open the door. “No smoking, and for god sake Munson, don’t tell the kids that you can eat the mushrooms, not again.”

Eddie had the audacity to look bewildered, brown eyes big and doe like as you held in a snicker from behind him. He swatted at your leg and you thumped him back, grinning when the back of your hand caught the edge of his rolling tin in his front pocket.

The older man moved onto Billy, glaring when the boy only smirked, sliding a pair of gold rimmed aviators over his eyes.

“Nudity is for the showers and your own cabin, California, I don’t wanna see your ass comin’ out of the lake, I don’t care how early it is in the morning.”

Billy simply grinned wider, snickering when Nancy blushed, rolling his eyes when Robin dug her fingers into his ribs.

“And you two,” Hopper lifted a hand, gesturing between you and Steve once more, “if I gotta break up any more fights, or play couples therapist, you’ll be paying for my own before summer is over, you hear me?”

The pair of you sulked, eyes lowered to the floor and feet shuffling as you weighed up your options of arguing back, but the office room was lacking its usual cloud of cigar smoke and the coffee machine in the corner had a piece of paper with a big ‘out of order’ scrawled on front.

“Loud and clear, chief,” Steve smirked, eyeing you from where he stood, Eddie grinning between you both.

Murray opened the door to the forest and the sun, the wall of heat seeping in and fighting with the old aircon unit and Hopper’s last words to you all before you slipped out were:

“Play nice and don’t kill the kids.”

Billy caught Steve by the shirt as they left, the boy’s watching as the rest of you walked down the gravel path that led through the trees, splintering off from cabin to cabin.

The blonde boy turned, grinning sharklike, sunglasses still on. He nodded to your retreating frame, taking a second to watch the way your shorts rode up the backs of your thighs as you climbed the cabin stairs behind Robin.

“You tapped that yet, Harrington?”

Steve glowered, ripping away his arm from the other boy but his reaction only made Billy smirk wider, a lighter appearing from his pocket as he lit his cigarette.

“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Steve did his best to sound bored, like he didn’t care.

But it only made Billy laugh, blowing smoke to the blue skies and he followed Steve down the opposite trail, heading towards the same cabin that Eddie was currently dragging a small amp into.

Steve huffed when the blonde boy stomped up the stairs behind him, stepping over the forgotten bags that lay unpacked on the floor. “Maybe that’s Hawkins' problem, you know?” He asked, referring to you. Billy eyed Steve, leaning against his top bunk, the air in the wooden cabin so much cooler than outside. “Maybe she just needs a good seeing to.”

Eddie raised his brows, looking carefully between his bunkmate and Billy, wondering if there was about to be a new record for how quickly a fight broke out. The current sat at seventeen hours after arrival, but there had been a lot more vodka involved that time, and maybe a comment or two about that one time Billy got the clap from some girl in the next town over.

“Now now, boys,” Eddie intoned, “I’ve not nearly had enough sleep to deal with this shit.”

He went ignored.

Billy continued, teeth sharp and white and bared as he followed Steve around the bunks, leaning against the dresser before the boy had a chance to open it and his eyes flashed when he watched the muscle in the brunette’s jaw twitch.

“Think she’d let me?” Hargrove asked, “think she’d get a little wild for me?” “Don’t you have shit to do?” Steve snapped, refusing to look at Billy, ‘cause he could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, a horribly uncomfortable tightness clawing at his throat.

But Billy could see right through him, years of spending summers together, watching the way you and Steve argued, nose to nose and chests panting. He always made sure he had a front seat to the show and poking the angry bear only made the inevitable first argument so much more fun to witness.

Billy clicked his tongue, still grinning unbearably wide. “Maybe I can go visit Hawkins… I’m sure there’s something heavy that your girl needs help with.”

“She’s not my fucking girl.”

The blonde winked at Eddie as he passed, the longer haired boy doing nothing to hide his smile, knowing fine well what game Hargrove was playing. And shit, he was winning, ‘cause by the time Billy left and Steve spun back around, his fists were clenched and a heavy scowl pulled his brows together.

“You’re too easy, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. He liked Eddie, and god, he knew he was right.

——————

“You know, every summer I expect you and Harrington to walk into camp, hand in hand, talkin’ all sweet to each other,” Robin wasn’t looking at you as she spoke, too busy stuffing already crumpled shirts into the shared dresser, but you knew she was grinning. “The sexual tension has to break sometime, you know?”

“Over my dead, fucking body.”

Your reply was one she’d heard before, year after year, summer after summer, because every June, the same thing happened. Fall outs, arguments, screaming matches in the mess hall, head to head battles on the dock, late night yelling over a campfire and a bottle of cheap bourbon.

“I still don’t get it,” the girl smirked, finally eyeing you from over the top bunk. The late morning light made the small cabin glow, the surface of the lake reflecting in through the open window and off of the panelled walls. “Steve isn’t that bad.”

“That’s because you didn’t have to go through high school with the King himself,” you deadpanned, already bored of the conversation. You’d had it before, several times over with almost all the camp staff, each one wondering why you and Steve fucking Harrington wanted to kill each other over a game of dodgeball, the last poptart at breakfast, picking teams on games night. “Harrington got everything I worked hard for, just ‘cause his daddy has some money.”

You threw your now empty duffle bag to the ground kicking at it until it slid underneath the bed. Your own pillow was in its rightful place on top, the peach coloured case clashing horribly with the army green duvet, but it smelled like home.

“I announced I was running for class president in sophomore year, and then that asshole decided he would to,” you levelled Robin with a stare, still petulant after so many years. “He threw a party at his stupid rich house and by Monday, everyone was talking about Steve Harrington’s pool and how they were voting for him.”

“Don’t you think it’s unhealthy to hold onto such a grudge-”

You cut the girl off, on a tangent now she’d brought the sore subject up. “Like, wasn’t it enough that he was the swim team captain? And then! When we got into that stupid fight in Junior year, we both ended up with a weeks detention but no, no. Mr Harrington swoops in with a little two grand donation to the school’s library upgrade and low and behold, little Stevie is suddenly off the hook.”

You kicked another bag, this one not as empty and you tried not to wince when your toe made contact with what you assumed was a collection of books.

“As long as his record is squeaky clean, right? S’not like his dad won’t just pay his way into fucking Yale, or Princeton, for him anyway,” you were grumbling now and when you looked up to see Billy Hargrove walking by with a too smug smile, you flipped him off, trying to make yourself feel better.

He just wiggled his fingers at you in a wave, winking when you grimaced.

“I think I need a drink,” you said, throwing yourself down onto the bed and concluding your Steve Harrington rant, more than likely only the first of the day.

The sheets smelled the same, like they always did. A little musty, like the back of a storage cupboard, almost hidden by the laundry detergent you knew Joyce made Hopper use. Fresh like pine needles, like the forest floor and mountain air. Kinda like another home.

Robin barked out a laugh before coming over and standing between the space between your knees, your legs splayed over the too narrow mattress. She offered you a hand, exaggerating a loud groan when you took it and she pulled you back up to sit. An affectionate pat fell on your head before she looked around the mess of your half unpacked cabin, sheets and folded towels on the dressers, drawers open and half full, a litter of shoes by the door and an unplugged radio on a chair.

“You know what?” She huffed out, “we both need a drink.”

——————

The keg party by the lake was a first night tradition, the older staff members long gone to their beds after a tiring first day in the forest heat, lugging around equipment and furniture.

The rest of you gathered at the dock, crowding the small part of the water front that had sand instead of rocks, the air still warm from the leftover sun despite the stars in the sky. It was inky black in the middle of the woods, the clouds navy, the lake a mirror and the fire gave off an impressive amber glow.

Everyone was painted in orange light, pink and red on their cheeks, smoke in their hair and a different kind of fire in their chests when Billy produced a few bottles of cheap whisky, a half bottle of bourbon and surprising everyone, Nancy had added a bottle of vodka to the pile. Cheap beer came in the form of lukewarm kegs and despite the effort it took, Jonathan pulled the short straw and drove out of camp, meeting the delivery boy on the main road to pick up a pile of hot pizza boxes.

It smelled like summer, smoke and god awful decisions.

The dirty beat of Need You Tonight by INXS started through the tannoys above you, the old, tinny speakers hidden in the trees.

Some people cheered, others moved to the sand to dance, a slow grind of bodies with their bare feet in the lake, water lapping at ankles as they moved. Steve was grinning from the dock, a rip in the one knee of his jeans, the skin underneath already tanned as if he belonged under the sun. The white t-shirt he wore was threadbare, years old with ‘camp upside down’ faded in green on the chest.

He was watching you, a feeling that used to make you unravel, like you knew he did it just to earn a rise from you. So you waved instead, sugary sweet and full of sarcasm, huffing when he beckoned you closer with a hand that was holding the last of the bourbon, and you told yourself it was the promise of alcohol that made your feet move.

You rolled your eyes before narrowing them at the boy in front of you, your red cup clutched to your chest and you couldn’t help but take another step forward, just a small one, until the toes of your shoes were touching his.

He looked down at the wooden boards, the water lapping underneath, barely seen between the cracks in the dark, but the boy was too focused on the way your converse bumped his nikes. It felt like a challenge, like everything with you did and when he looked back up, your chin was tilted high and your eyes were glittering.

You looked like trouble and he hated it.

“Is this another one of your shitty mixtapes, Harrington?” You let the words drip from your lips, whisky mixing with distaste and the late night air.

Everything was warm and sweet, bourbon and peaches, campfire smoke and leftover lake water on your skin. Steve looked at you, eyes shining, freckles on his nose like stars and he grinned.

“How’d you know, princess?” He took the cigarette that had been tucked behind his ear, slid it between his lips as he kept your gaze, always undefeated in the staring contests you both never meant to start.

“‘Cause it sounds like something a boy would make when he’s trying too hard to get a chick in his bed.”

He lit the cigarette, still grinning, the end of it caught between teeth and Steve Harrington looked so unbelievably ready to play one of your little games with you. The ash burned red in the dim light, the sounds of your friends and co-workers dull behind you both.

“Does that mean it’s working?”

“You fucking wish, wonder boy,” you scoffed and you made a grab for the bottle he was holding, twisting your lips to hold in the annoyance when Steve moved it out of reach, holding the amber liquid above your head.

“So mean already,,” Steve tutted and you hated the familiar warmth that wrapped around his words, like it was supposed to be a compliment. “Don’t you usually wait for day three before breaking out that one?”

“Give it,” you demanded, and from over Steve’s shoulder you could see Eddie and Jonathan watching, expectant smiles on their faces and interest in their eyes.

“Make me, princess,” Steve answered, voice just as short as yours but he sounded too amused, like he always did when he was trying to push your buttons. The boy was too tall, his hand and the bottle well above your head, leaking into the night sky above and you weren’t going to humiliate yourself by trying to jump for it.

So you drained what was left in your cup, the vodka was too cheap and it burned your tongue but the mix of cherry kool aid made up for it, staining your tongue red. You swiped at your lips, grinned and planted your hands on Steve’s chest much to his surprise.

But just as his mouth fell into a pretty ‘o’ shape, his brown eyes darkened to that dark honey shade you were used to, you pushed, hard. He hit the water with a splash and to the raucous sound of whoops and cheers, a wolf whistle when he emerged, white top soaked and clinging to the ridges and dips of his muscles, tangled at his waist.

He spluttered, waist deep in the lake as he stared back up at you, hair dripping into his eyes and oh, he was mad. You were fucking joyous, wrapped up in the way people were laughing and you didn’t break eye contact with the boy as you bent at the waist and picked up the bottle that’d dropped as he fell.

You pulled off the lid, grinned and brought it to your lips, draining the rest of the smoky drink, another burn that nipped at your throat, your chest, your skin. You felt too warm when you chased a stray drip of it with your thumb, sliding over your lip before sucking it back between your lips.

“Made you,” you told Steve.

The things you do, don’t seem real.

The kids arrived in a wave of colours and chaos, bags forgotten on buses, new cabins already turned inside out and Joyce had a queue as long as the lake outside of her office, her hands full of allergy medication, inhalers and requests to change bunks ‘cause ‘Kyle Jamison snores like a seventy year old with a lung condition.’

The camp itself was just as messy, it always had been. The old cabins littered the space, winding dirt tracks leading you into a cluster of trees, surrounding the old wooden huts, the porch light almost always flickering in the dark.

There was faded bunting hanging from branch to branch, the old gym that sat with its rusting tin roof near the back, the dock with its splintering planks by the lake. The grassy hub at the centre was worn down by constant running and makeshift picnics and the wildflowers that free in between it all were getting too tall, bursts of red, yellow and orange between green moss.

It was getting old, things were a little broken but the entire forest smelled like morning dew, that ‘it’s just rained’ kinda way and old campfire smoke. It was another home.

Camp Upside Down was officially in full swing.

You were pleased to see you had some of your returning favourites in your group that year: Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Suzie Bingham and Dustin Henderson.

You were just going through the last of the names on your list, kids gathered in front of you and awaiting their assigned cabins when Steve snatched the clipboard from your hand, huffing.

“Harrington!”

“What the hell is this?” Steve grumbled, looking at the sheet of paper and at your group. He singled out Dustin, and the boy flushed, all nervous grin and bright eyes underneath his curls. “Henderson, I thought you said you were requesting my group this year?”

The young boy shrugged, glancing at the trees instead of Steve.

“I, uh, I said I was happy with either of you,” Dustin grinned, front teeth coming in more than they were last year and you beamed back. “Besides, Hawkins sneaks us extra cookies before bed.”

You shot the boy a look.

“Hey! I told you not to tell anyone about that,” you admonished, eyes rolling. “And that’s not my name, Dustin, we spoke about this last year.”

But before Dustin could argue back, Steve was pulling you aside, his hands shockingly warm as they wrapped around your wrist. You stumbled into the tree line with him, shoes sinking into moss, senses surrounded by cedar and cicadas and Steve.

“What the fuck? Steve!” You hissed, pulling yourself from his grasp with a scowl.

Before either if you could say anything,Lucas Sinclair, a tall, dark haired kid tapped a passing new counsellor on the arm. They looked concerned when the boy pointed to you both, hidden in the trees.

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he told them, voice bored and lacking any real worry.

“You’re stealing my kids, princess!” Steve’s voice was just as annoyed as yours, his brow furrowed as he stabbed a finger at your sheet of names.

“Stealing?” You scoffed, whacking your clipboard against his own. The metal clip narrowly missed his fingers and he swore at you hotly. “Stealing? They’re children, Harrington, not collectibles.”

The kids in question were giggling where you’d left them, your group mixing with Steve’s as they stared in that unabashed way only preteens could. You flushed when you heard one of them - Nancy’s brother, Mike, you were sure - made wet, kissing noises. Immature and highly ironic, you noted, considering he was standing hand in hand with a girl called El.

You glared at them all and they quietened, but only just.

Spinning back round to deal with your other problem, you pointed a finger to Steve’s chest, hating the way he smirked at your sudden frustration.

“And what’s your point anyway, huh?” You huffed, “you have Maxine this year, I always have Max in my group!”

Steve looked entirely too smug as he bent a little at waist, crowding down into you so you were both toe to toe.

You hated it.

You hated his brown eyes, the way they caught the sun. You hated the smattering of freckles he got every summer, the moles on his neck, the ones you knew dotted the rest of his skin. You hated his hair, how it fell into his eyes when he got mad at you, how he was too focused on you to push it back.

“Maybe Max just likes me better.”

You gasped, entirely offended at his accusation and before you could hurl something sharp and quick back at him, the girl in question raised her hand from the middle of the crowd, face scrunched in uncertainty.

“Hi, uh, yeah” You both turned to look at the redhead. “Yeah, no, that’s absolutely not true.”

You rounded back on the boy, a shit eating grin on your face as you raised your brows, your expression victorious.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, almost nose to nose now and you could smell the spearmint gum he’d chewed, the clean smell of his cologne, whatever body wash he’d used that morning. “Good luck keeping mini Byers alive.”

“Hey!” Will piped up, louder than he’d been last summer and he was scowling at Steve. “I only have three inhalers now.”

Steve rolled his eyes, finally moving out of your space and rounding up his kids like some sort of rogue cowboy, sans horse. He waved the boy away, sounding somewhat placating when he congratulated him.

“That’s great, Will, honestly buddy,” Steve offered a fist bump, one that the smaller boy happily accepted. “Just don’t let Hawkins here let you forget them yeah?”

Steve turned back to you once more, still smug, still infuriating. “We wouldn’t want her to get in trouble now, would we?”

——————

“Camp has been in session for five minutes.”

Murray was standing in front of you, hands open in a gesture that screamed ‘for the love of god, explain yourselves.’ Hopper was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, fingers running circles at his temples and he sighed heavily.

Neither you nor Steve spoke, eyes trained on the old, worn floorboards, converse shuffling, shoulders shrugging, lips twisted to hide your matching smirks.

“Does someone want to explain what happened this time? Because we can’t keep throwing kayaks in the trash like they’re broken cups, people! They're not cheap!”

“Well, you see, Steve has this real annoying habit of-”

“- just because the princess feels then need to win at everything-”

“I need to win at everything?! Me?! Are you fu-”

“Yes you! Always breathin’ down my back, waitin’ for me to fuck up so you can-”

“Enough!“ Hopper jumped up from his chair, hands slamming on his desk as he hunched over it, shoulders heaving, face too red. “Who. Broke. The Kayak?”

You and Steve sighed, shoulder slumped, heads tilted to the ceiling as if you could avoid the question, each other, the inevitable punishment that was coming your way. You sighed, Steve groaned and you both swore.

Because, honestly? You weren’t sure who’s fault it was. Maybe yours, probably Harrington's. More than likely both. ‘Cause the kids had stumbled out of the lake, giddy and a little sunburnt, leaving you to haul the kayaks onto the shore on your own.

Steve had only watched you for a few minutes, smirk on his face as you struggled with the faded red boats, huffing as you attempted to lift them onto the racks, feet clumsy and damp hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks.

In fact, he looked entirely too amused as he leaned against the dock and by the time he’d come over, offering a rare display of help, you stubbornly told him to ‘fuck off.’

He’d laughed at that, angering you more and you squeaked as he stretched out behind you, his chest still bare from helping his group in the water, and the solid warmth of it brushed against your back when his hands moved to help yours.

He jumped when you did, hands stuttering over your own, over the kayak and you had to push yourself up onto your toes when the boat slipped from the railing. You both caught it in time, Steve pressed into you, cedar and mint and boyish cologne as the curve of your ass settled into his hips. As soon as the kayak was in place, you spun, pushing at his shoulders.

“I can do it myself,” you mumbled, suddenly far too flustered to sound overly annoyed. “I don’t need your help.”

“Christ, princess, you sound like a five year old,” Steve scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the flush on his cheeks, looking like you felt. “Can’t admit when you need help, huh?”

“I don’t need help from you, wonder boy,” you tried to laugh, but it came out too pitchy, too forced.

The camp was quiet now the kids had gone back to their cabins, the lake settling after the afternoon swim, the smell of churros and pizza rolls coming from the mess hall. The air fizzed with summer heat and something else and you weren’t sure why, but your chest was heaving, the straps of your swimsuit suddenly feeling too tight.

“Stop calling me that,” Steve growled, eyes flashing and he moved into you again, the way he did when every argument started. “You know I fuckin’ hate that.”

“No shit,” you spat, meeting him in the middle, chin raised in a taunt, a dare, a challenge. “You think I’m here to make your life easier than it already is?” “You’re fucking infuriating,” Steve hissed, “you know fuck all about my life, princess, don’t act like you’re so hard done by.”

You pressed a hand to Steve’s stomach, ignoring the way the muscles there clenched under your touch and you pushed at him, something inside you crackling when he didn’t budge.

You hated his stupid smile, the way his lips twisted when he made you mad enough to scrunch your nose at him. You hated the way he looked down at you when you were this close, through his lashes, like you were something to be studied. Like he liked the way got into his personal space.

“Well damn, why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Harrington?”

Steve pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek to try and hide his grin, and he shrugged, trying to look entirely unbothered at your pushing. He took another step towards you, chasing you slowly when you stumbled back, body pressed to the stacked kayaks behind you.

The old boats were warm from the sun, the cheap pvc hot on your skin, back bared down the low cut of your swimsuit, your shorts doing nothing to protect the backs of your thighs. You wondered if that’s why your chest felt flushed, if that’s why your face was heating up.

“Can’t do that,” he said, tutting before taking his time letting his eyes drop down your body, before trailing back up again. He caught your gaze, held it, bolder than ever. “I’ll get in too much trouble.”

And then, he fucking winked.

So really, it was Steve’s fault that you stumbled into the racks, the kayak that the boy had just helped you push into place rocking on the rails. Neither of you had the reflexes to do anything about it when it slipped backwards, landing on the hard ground, the dull thud ringing out across camp, the sound ending with a sharp crack, the pvc splitting across the bow of the boat.

So that’s how you both ended your night in the mess hall, waving after Bob as he finished serving up sloppy joes and went to find the gaggle of kids that demanded that he needed to fix their broken Walkmans and waterlogged Mattel electronic games.

Murray had stood in front of you both, grinning widely as he handed you mops and cleaning supplies, gleefully pointing out the mustard stains on the linoleum, the spattering of jello that had somehow painted one of the windows.

It was times like these that you were almost sure you preferred Hopper’s red face and grumbled lectures.

“I want this place spotless,” Murray told you both, waving a pair of yellow rubber gloves at Steve. The boy snatched them, face less than impressed when the man simply chuckled. “If you can flirt somewhere away from expensive camp property, you can work out some of this sexual tension by trying to get rid of that dried in chilli from last year.”

You would’ve gagged at the mention of the fossilised food if you hadn’t burned at the insinuation of flirting. And sexual tension. With Steve fucking Harrington.

But the boy beat you to it, as always, his eyes widening and he brandished the mop like a weapon as he pointed at you.

“We were not flirting,” he insisted, “we do not flirt.”

Murray chuckled, “alright Casanova, keep your hair on.”

You snorted and Steve scowled, shooting you a look that clearly was meant to tell you to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Murray, I’d like to think in all the years that we’ve known each other, you’d think I had better taste than to pine after Harrington,” you turned to the boy, smiling as sweet as the summer outside. “Wonder boy has enough of the fifteen year olds twirling their pigtails for him.”

“Stop calling me that.”

You ignored him, splashing his trainers with your mop instead and he kicked your bucket in return.

“Yeah, no, this?” Murray clicked his fingers at you both, pointing back and forth at you as if you were a science experiment. “This is ridiculous. Do something about it before you both implode. I’m not having you take the entire camp down just because you’re both too horny to come to terms with normal human emotions.”

Your jaw dropped, a small noise of indignation coming from you and Steve looked completely bewildered.

He grinned once more, smug as he shook his head, like he was the only enjoying whatever inside joke was going on. He turned to leave, not before reaching into his pocket and flicking something at Steve.

The boy caught it instinctively and he turned to the man with wide eyes. But Murray was already walking away, a stern hand raised in the air, finger pointed to the roof as if he was giving you both some sage words of wisdom as he called out:

“Keep it clean!”

You realised he wasn’t just referring to the mess hall when Steve held up the object, face aghast and cheeks positively on fire, the square, foil packet pinched between his fingers.

You were burning, mouth open in surprise and you panicked, batting Steve’s hand and making the condom fall into the sudsy water you had both already spilled onto the floor.

You definitely preferred Hopper’s way of punishment.

“Put that in the trash, right fucking now,” you demanded, staring at the offending object like it was a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow.

“Christ, settle down, princess priss,” Steve huffed, “it’s not gonna bite.”

But for once, he did what you asked, the highs of his cheeks still tinted pink as he snatched the silver packet from the floor, stuffing it deep into the trash bags you’d both been equipped with. He didn’t look at you.

You both worked in silence as the late afternoon turned into dusk, the sky outside the window a pretty lavender, the clouds over the lake turning the water tangerine and it was so quiet.

Most of the kids would be in their bunks by now, some excitedly making their way over to one of the older cabins where Eddie would organise a game of Dungeons and Dragons for them all. Nancy would be in Hop’s office, going through the next week's schedule and Jonathan would be hidden in his makeshift darkroom, a small shed that was once used for bikes.

You were almost certain Billy would be skulking the woods, looking for a ritual sacrifice or some lone kid to blow his shrill whistle at. Either option seemed likely.

Robin would probably already be back in your shared cabin, music on, one of Eddie’s free joints hanging from her lips and you wondered if Steve would normally spend his down time alone, or if he liked to wander the collection of bars the next town over had to offer. If he brought some girl back to his cabin, if he pressed her down onto his stupid bunk that probably smelled like sunscreen and his cologne.

Your stomach twisted ugly at the thought and you slammed the soaking mop down onto the floor harder than you needed to.

You were positively glowering at the streaks of leftover over pudding some kind had smeared across the floor, kicking the forgotten baseball cards and tiny action figures so they skittered under the stacked chairs.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” The boy called out.

He was sitting on one of the long lunch tables, legs swinging with a smirk on his face. He’d hardly cleaned, you’d come to realise, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had other reasons to be mad now.

You stared at him from across the empty hall, chest heaving with an annoyance that only Steve Harrington could pull from you. You let mop clatter roll the floor, uncaring as you rounded on him.

“You,” you spat, hands on your hips and hair messy from where the late night heat made it stick to your forehead.

“Me?” Steve asked, all faux shock and innocence with a hand pressed to his chest. He grinned, wolfish and sharp edges. “Didn’t realise I had an effect on your underwear, princess, wanna elaborate?”

There it was again, you realised. That flirting lilt that weaved its way through his usual taunts and teases, Steve’s normal bite not quite cutting as deep. Not this year, not this time.

It made you flustered, on edge, unable to formulate the kind of barbed reply you usually kept on the tip of your tongue, just for him, and oh my god, it infuriated you.

“You have absolutely no reason to be thinking about what’s under my shorts, Harrington,” you told him, eyes narrowed as you went about moving the stacks of chairs against the wall.

“Bold of you to assume I’d want to, Hawkins.”

The light was leaking from the day and what was left of the sun made the shadows on Steve’s face lilac and peach. You didn’t know you’d marched over to him until you were able to reach out and touch him.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, “don’t call me that as if you don’t come from the same shitty, backwater town as me.”

Steve leaned forward, his hands curling around the edge of the table as he raised his brows, ready for another argument. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like he’d trapped the sun in his chest, like summer lived inside of him.

“D’you prefer princess? The princess of Hawkins, is that it?” His voice was mocking, his eyes sarcastically soft.

“Fuck off, Harrington,” you snarled, and you couldn’t help but lean in too, Steve’s knees pressing into the front of your thighs, your fists clenched by your sides. “At least I’m getting away from that place without my daddy paying my way out.”

“Watch your mouth, sweetheart,” Steve spoke lowly, more serious than you’d heard him before. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Ooh, did I hit a nerve, sweetheart?” You bit back.

The boy stared at you, gaze heavy and hot in a way that made you squirm. The air was buzzing, popping and crackling like there had been a fire lit between you and suddenly, you didn’t know how you were supposed to end this fight.

The tension was too thick to walk away from, sticky like honey, trapping you there.

“You’re fucking impossible,” he whispered, staring at you like you were a puzzle piece that just didn’t fit. “You’re a pain in my ass, you have been since fucking freshman year.”

You scoffed, pinched and nipped by his words because you were just as aggravated by his presence as he was yours. Maybe more. And probably for longer.

“Freshman year?” You said, surprise colouring your tone. “That’s real cute Harrington, but you’ve been getting on my last fucking nerve since seventh grade.”

“Seventh grade? What the fu-”

You sucked in a breath, preparing yourself. You’d been waiting for this moment for eight years.

“Mrs Duncan’s science fair!” You burst out, “I worked my ass off making those vegetable batteries!”

Steve was staring at you blankly, lips parted.

“I had my tables and all my charts, I even bought a metre to measure the voltage with just my pocket money!” You jabbed a finger to his chest, lips twisted into an almost pathetic pout but you felt twelve again and Steve Harrington still pushing your buttons.

“And you! You waltzed in half an hour late, with a stupid bottle of coke and some mentos, claiming that you’d been the one to discover fucking CO2.”

Steve, unable to hide his amused smile, just shrugged. “I was barely thirteen, Jesus Christ princess…”

“And then your dad came in behind you,” you sniffed. “He walked right up to Mrs Duncan and handed her a piece of paper. And I remember it had a few zeros on it,” you laughed without much humour.

The smile slipped from Steve’s face.

“It was so weird, y’know? How that happened and then you won? And then the next week the library had been restocked and suddenly there were new bunsen burners in the science lab.”

You were genuinely surprised when Steve shoved past you, his hands a shocking heat on the dip of your waist as he grabbed at you to tug you out of his way. You didn’t know when you’d moved to stand between his legs, close enough to see the different shades of brown in his eyes, the way there was a small freckle just below his left brow.

He was marching across the mess hall, mop and trash bag forgotten and you were so shocked that it took you a few seconds before you called out, weaker than you had previously been speaking.

“What’s wrong, wonder boy? Don’t like it when you’re called out?”

You weren’t sure if you felt smug or concerned when he spun on his heel, stalking back towards you and moving into you, close enough that the mess of his hair brushed your forehead. But you stood your ground, your legs bumping into the back of the table he’d just left, and you watched through interested eyes as Steve’s chest heaved.

He looked like he wanted to say something, to yell at you even. But you tilted your chin in one last act of defiance, the tip of your nose just, just brushing his and you swore on everything that was holy that you watched the fight leave him.

He was still breathing heavily, like he’d run a mile, took a few hits in a boxing ring, got into a fight with a pretty girl and walked back in for more. You hated it when you realised your chest was moving the same, breaths leaving you in short bursts but you didn’t dare let your stare drop from the boy’s.

You watched lips part, you watched his gaze drop to your mouth and suddenly the birds outside stopped chirping and you could’ve sworn that the world ceased spinning. It felt like the forest was waiting.

Like it was holding its breath.

But then the mop that Steve had left resting against the table he had crowded you against fell, clattering to the floor with a sharp echo. It startled you both, jumping apart as you shared one last breath together, eyes on the floor, cheeks burning.

You didn’t try to stop him when he left a second time, managing to disappear out of the door and into the summer night. You watched the trees and the shadows swallow him, fireflies and leftover smoke in the air and fucking hell, you hated that you watched him walk away until his cabin door could be heard slamming shut.

Tell me what you’ve got in mind.

By the end of the second week of camp, the staff was starting to show the stress of running after a bunch of kids twenty four hours a day. Some of the younger children in Robin's group had caught a bug, and between your friend, yourself and Joyce, you were all run ragged, hauling buckets across camp and dishing out cold compresses like sweets.

So when Saturday rolled in, warmer than the last, you were all ready to let off some steam, meeting behind the gymnasium when the sun went down, greeted by a small fire that Eddie got going in an old trash can. He brought some pre-rolled joints, some stolen bags of chips from Bob’s secret stash and the gym was far away enough from the rest of the camp that no one heard the noise of the boombox Jonathan brought with him.

You threw your own additions into the middle of the makeshift circle that the seven of you made, the newer counsellors still too scared to toe the line of what might get them fired. You stared at the pile of paraphernalia in the middle of the halved logs, makeshift sofas in the too long grass.

A baggie of weed, a grinder and Eddie’s tin of joints, Billy’s favourite whisky, another bottle of vodka - loaded with cherry jolly ranchers that made it pretty and pink. A few cassettes, some homemade mixtapes, the stolen chips, some red vines and sour patch kids, the packet already open and sugar coating the grass.

You hadn’t really spoken to Steve since the mess hall incident.

You’d rather immaturely begged Eddie to switch block sessions with you, allowing you to take your kids to the other side of camp, far from where Steve spent time with his group. You’d organised a massive arts and craft project with Nancy instead, avoiding her knowing looks and pointed questions, letting Dustin go crazy with googly eyes, glitter and neon felt tips instead.

It didn’t matter if you’d asked the kids to make their favourite animal, you’d accept Henderson’s four eyed, sparkly green lizard looking thing over Nancy’s inquisition any day of week. You felt a little bad though, when you all discovered as a group that Will was most definitely allergic to the new type of glue sticks that Hopper had bought.

But it meant that you’d only seen Steve during some meal times, a glance over breakfast, a small collision during one dinner, fries and a bottle of iced tea falling to the floor and everyone had stopped, stared, waited for the yells.

They hadn’t come.

You’d watched him argue with Max when she climbed a tree that he’d already warned her was too tall, you and your group stopping mid swim in the lake to bob around in the current, watching as the boy kicked a dead branch in frustration before scrambling up after her when Max inevitably got stuck.

You knew he was listening in when Dustin started asking why you worked at the camp, a question he asked you every year. You always told the boy it was because you loved seeing him and the rest of the rugrats he called friends. And it always worked when he was younger, ‘cause he’d smile and let you muss up his curls, overjoyed with such an answer and a piece of bubblegum from your pocket.

But he was older now and less believing and when you gave him the same adoring monologue, he simply raised his brows and asked again.

“College,” you had told him simply. “Or money really. I need the cash to be able to leave Hawkins and go somewhere else.”

“Where?” Dustin had asked you, sincere in only the way kids could be.

You were overly aware that Harrington was sitting behind you at the other table, back to back with you on the benches as he showed El how to tie her elastic just right, so that her slingshot would definitely beat Sinclairs. You didn’t have it in you to tell both of them that that kind of craft project definitely wasn’t allowed.

You leaned into Dustin instead and shrugged, smiling softly despite the way you saw Steve in your peripheral, turning just enough so he could hear you say:

“Anywhere.”

So it was a little jarring when he arrived at your little staff get together, camp shirt replaced with one of his own, a sunshine yellow tee that made his eyes look like honey and his skin more tanned. You hated that you noticed, that you knew he looked good.

He greeted everyone warmly, bar you, sending you a curt nod of his head over the burning fire that had Nancy rolling her eyes and Robin poking you in the ribs. Because there were no barbed wire words exchanged between either of you, no jabs, no bites, no smug smiles or sarcastic grins.

“What is going on with you two?”

You ignored her question, giving her a warning glare that she also chose to ignore, ‘cause she went and sat next to Eddie and Jonathan instead, whispering to them behind the plumes of smoke they’d created.

After a few drinks and several people telling Billy to shut up, the night turned darker, the sky navy and the air still stiflingly warm. The fire was more a source of light than heat at this point, or as Eddie liked to remind everyone, ‘it’s for the ambience,’ and everyone was doing their best to stay away from the flames, skin already tight and sore with fresh sunburn from that day.

It only took the vodka bottle being emptied before Billy announced a game of truth or dare, to which everyone groaned and asked what age he was. But he tutted, unperturbed and dropped the empty glass bottle into the middle of the messy circle your bodies had made.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ boring,” he intoned, “it’s either this or hitchhiking into Bloomington to find a chick that likes being on top-”

The girls groaned, faces pulled into disgust and Jonathan was shaking his head, a bemused look on his face.

“-and quite frankly that seems like too much effort tonight.”

Steve scoffed, taking the joint Eddie offered him, pushing it between his lips for a hit before he turned to Billy, one eyebrow raised.

“You mean finding a girl that doesn’t already know you’re a giant dickhead is gettin’ harder to find?”

Sometimes you wondered if Steve hated Billy more than he hated you.

“There’s always your princess,” Billy grinned, eyeing you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. “She’s gotta give into me sometime, right?”

“Keep dreaming, Hargrove,” you butted in, doing nothing to hide the disgust in your voice. You wanted to kick yourself when you realised you’d responded to being Steve’s princess, your name never even being mentioned. “I’d rather kiss Harrington.”

The wave of something washed over the group at your words, wide eyes and soft smirks, and you felt your stomach sink. Steve was staring at you, eyes lit up with something that looked akin to a challenge, a dare that you hadn’t yet been asked.

Fuck.

“Is that so?” Billy laughed, a harsh noise that let everyone know he wasn’t happy at your statement. But he grinned, sharp teeth and sharper blue eyes, steely on you. “You always pick dare, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“That’s not-”

“I dare you to give us all some entertainment and make out with Harrington,” Billy continued, talking over you without even blinking. “Maybe if both of your mouths are busy, we’ll get some fuckin’ peace and quiet around here.”

Nobody breathed.

But someone must’ve picked your mixtape out of the pile, ‘cause the opening beat to ‘I Think We’re Alone Now,’ by Tiffany, started to play. You stared at Billy, shocked at his suggestion, his demand. The game suddenly felt less fun and the only sounds were the echo of your strangled scoff and the crackle of the fire.

But then Nancy was pushing her foot into your ankle from where she sat on her boyfriend's lap, eyes glittering.

“On you go,” she told you, and you think she was trying to be encouraging.

“What?”

“What?” Nancy repeated, doe eyes innocent and wide, like she didn’t know what she was doing. “You picked dare!”

“I didn’t say shit!” You exclaimed, looking around at your friends for help. Robin and Eddie were cackling, faces pressed into each others shoulders, and being absolutely no fucking help to you. “Guys!”

“C’mon, Hawkins, you don’t like to lose now, do you?” Billy was grinning from where he lazed across some old crash mats, his voice a slow drawl as he chewed some gum obnoxiously. “Give Harrington a little lovin’.”

‘Children, behave… that’s what they say when we’re together.’

You turned to Steve, who was still leaning against the gym wall, his eyes finding yours even in the dim evening light. He looked unsure, nervous even, like he was ready to tell the rest of them to shut up, to pack it in. But then he watched the way you brought the bottle of wine to your lips, letting the rest of the sweet drink trickle past your lips and god, he looked at you like he was ready to fight.

Dark brown eyes, smirk on his lips, cocky tilt of his head like he was waiting for you.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth as he watched you stand there, thinking, weighing up your options.

“What’s my forfeit?” You asked cautiously.

You turned when Billy chuckled, blue eyes looking as navy as the sky. He let his head tip back, smoke slipping from his lips and into the trees before he grinned at you, far, far too happily.

“Me,” he told you.

So Steve sighed, overly dramatic before he spoke to the group, voice full of that easy confidence you hated so much.

“Don’t worry princess, you can give it your best shot and I promise I won’t feel a damn thing.”

Your friends cackled and hollered around you; always thoroughly amused by the show you and Steve put on. Robin shook her head from where she sat beside Eddie, a shit eating grinning pulling at her lips and she spilled some beer as she leaned forward and called out:

“What’s that they say? It’s a fine line between love and hate?”

More laughs, whispers and knowing nudges, dollar bills exchanging hands as the group placed their bets on what would happen next.

“I bet your dick says otherwise.”

You don’t know what made you mention Steve Harrington’s dick, but it made the boy’s jaw go slack and the rest of the circle lost it. More whistles, jeering and catcalls broke the quiet of the night, loud over the music, louder because of the vodka and you couldn’t help but set Steve with a smile and a shrug.

This felt like a game you wanted to win.

So you walked over to where he stood, leaning lazy against the gym wall, watching you move towards him like a predator stalking its prey. He was looking at you the same way he did when you ended up on opposite teams for a game of capture the flag, all red hot intensity, pride and confidence bubbling over.

You were surprised when Steve’s hands settled on the dip of your waist, holding you there as you pushed up on your toes to find his lips. Your hand grabbed at his shirt, fisted at the collar to pull him down to you and something in your stomach tumbled when he obeyed.

He didn’t make any more moves though, eyes almost closed as he looked at you through his lashes, watching, waiting, seeing if you fulfilled your dare.

It was awfully quiet now, your friends silent, the radio and the fire both crackling and you could hear how you and Steve’s harsh breaths fell over each other’s faces.

You’d never been this close before. And then it all happened a little too fast.

His fingers flexed at your sides, digging into the soft there and you weren’t sure if it was out of anticipation, impatience or annoyance. There is as something screaming inside of you to move away, to take the loss, that kissing Steve fucking Harrington wouldn’t be worth the five second glory of completing a dare behind the gym hall.

But then Steve was whispering and it fell across your lips, his breath sweet like raspberry sour patch kids and rosè wine.

“If you’re too scared, princess, I totally understa-“

One more push was all you needed. A poke, a pinch, from him, the one person who knew how to rile you up the best.

You kissed him with a surprising softness. Your mouths clashed rough at first, like you did it just to shut him up, to prove a point. And that was true. But your lips gave way to him with surprising ease, a push and pull that felt less like a fight than you thought it would.

It was easy to pretend it wasn’t a dare when Steve let out the prettiest sound, a half sigh, half groan that came from the back of his throat and when he tried to move into you, to take a little more control, your hand that was still curled into his shirt pushed him back into the wall he was leaning on.

He seemed to like that though, ‘cause you felt the curve of his lips on yours, smiling into the kiss and his grip on your waist got almost too tight, like he was planning on leaving marks on you.

Maybe he was.

But then it was a fight, like always, the most dizzying kind. His lips were hot and he tasted sweet, like summer and candy and too cheap alcohol. It felt nice to be kissed, it was all very nice until you remembered it was Harrington and you pushed into him a little harder, nipped at his lip and tugged on his hair. He gave it back just as good, nails scraping against your back, just catching bare skin as he lifted the shirt from your sides.

No one said a word when you parted. Not you, not Steve, not your friends. Not even Billy. You left Steve with a small gasp, a soft noise as you finally parted, so entirely unaware of how long you’d been caught up in his kiss. You felt bruised, on fire, like you’d just stumbled away from your most heated argument yet.

The only saving grace was that he looked as dizzy as you felt.

—————

When a team meeting was called early the next morning, you walked into Hopper's cabin last, only to find everyone in different stages of a hangover, but all equally happy to see you.

They were all grinning, wide, knowing smiles that set your own teeth on edge, your headache worsening when you caught sight of Steve slouched low on the sofa.

He had a pair of Ray Bans perched on his nose and he didn’t look at you when you walked in, eyes on the floor and wincing.

Why the fuck did you kiss Steve fucking Harrington?

“Good morning to you, darlin’,” Billy drawled from where he was leaning against Murray’s desk, smirking with tired eyes. “Sleep well? You didn’t come knockin’ on my cabin so I assume Harrington took real good care of you.”

Oh, you remembered. That’s why.

“Fuck off, Hargrove.”

It was all you could muster when your mouth still tasted like bourbon and Steve, and Murray looked thoroughly interested when he took to the middle of the floor, clipboard in hand.

“I don’t know what went on last night,” he chuckled, “but I’m sure your hungover asses will be pleased to know that it’s hike day.”

Please for the love of god, no.

Everyone groaned, faces dropping in upset and Robin, who had already been sitting on the floor, her back to Nancy’s legs, slumped over, cheek pressed to the old carpet and she made a noise that was akin to a wail.

“Lucky for most of you, we already have sign ups,” Murray crowed gleefully. “Harrington, Hawkins número dos, have a great day.”

Your mouth fell open in protest - hypocritical, you knew, considering you went through the training for hiking safety last summer, but you weren’t on the schedule until next week.

You stared at Nancy who was flicking through the rota with confusion knitted into her features and when she caught your eye, she just shrugged.

“No, no, no,” you told Murray, a strange laugh bubbling in your throat that sounded like panic, “I’m not taking my kids out until next weekend, with Robin!”

Murray shrugged, not looking like he really cared and he crossed his arms, nodding his head towards Eddie.

“No, I know,” he told you in a voice he probably thought was soothing. “But Eddie Munster here-”

“Um, it’s Munson actually.”

“Whatever - your idiot colleague here decided that the road less travelled was the best way home last night.” Murray grinned and pointed down to where Eddie’s foot sat on a small stool, his ankle wrapped tightly in a haphazard bandage. “He’s sprained it.”

You gaped at the boy and Eddie had the right to look sorry, his teeth bared in an apologetic grimace and he mouthed “sorry” at you from beside Steve. His bunk mate hardly stirred.

“Can’t someone else go?” You asked, spinning back to Murray and you didn’t even care that you sounded desperate. “Like, literally anyone else?”

But Murray kept smiling, his clipboard clasped to his chest like a schoolgirl with a secret diary and he sighed dramatically at you before shaking his head.

“No.”

“But Hopper specifically said that we’re not allowed to group together anymore!” You tried, gesturing wildly to Steve who barely answered with a groan. “Not after summer eighty three when he almost drowned me.”

“Okay that’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

You rounded on the boy, hands still flapping around yourself. “Oh, he speaks! Don’t you have anything to say about this?”

Steve peered at you from over the top of his sunglasses, brown eyes weary behind them. He groaned, frowned and pushed his head onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“Yeah, no, I’m too tired to argue right now, princess.”

Murray looked entirely too amused and he crooked his finger in air quotes when he snorted and said, “sure, tired, gotcha.” He turned back to you, still grinning obnoxiously. “Anyway, chief isn’t here today and I figured there isn’t any boating equipment for either of you to break out in the mountains.”

The group tittered.

“So hop to it,” he clapped his hands, board tucked under his arm and everyone leapt to their feet when the older man made a move to grab the whistle that hung around his neck. “The kids are finishing breakfast and I want both your groups at the meeting point for a safety debrief before nine.”

—————

You were busy smearing another layer of sunscreen on Will’s nose when Dustin appeared at your side.

The two groups had made it halfway up the trail, the sun lazy and warm, the way it could only be on an early morning hike. The sky was still hazy, a soft blue lavender that made the clouds in the sky seem dreamlike. The kids were still quiet with sleep, trailing happily behind each other, trading secrets and sips of water with their assigned hike buddies.

It was nice. Apart from Steve leading the way with a scowl on his face.

“Are you and Steve fighting?” Dustin asked, curls stuffed messily under a Camp Upside Down hat.

You finished patting at Will’s forehead as you turned to the other boy with a soft frown. But the two kids stared up at you expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of answer.

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Henderson,” you laughed softly, “but Harrington and I fight all the time. Argue, I mean. Hitting is bad.”

Will rolled his eyes as he fell back into step beside you, the three of you continuing up the path a little behind the rest of the group. But Dustin tugged at your shirt sleeve, clearly not finished with the conversation, nor satisfied with your answer.

“But that’s the point,” he proclaimed and you huffed as you pulled him out of the way of a fallen branch, his attention focused too much on you to notice it in his way. “You haven’t been mean to each other all morning.”

“Or called each other names,” Will pointed out from the other side of you.

“That’s because name calling isn’t nice,” you tried to protest, but your voice sounded weak even to your own ears.

“You call each other names all the time.”

For the love of god.

Suzie Bingham had appeared beside Dustin, coke bottle glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose as she set you with a knowing look. Dustin grinned at the girl's appearance, cheeks pink as their shoulders brushed together on the narrow path.

“That’s not the point,” you told her, grappling for an explanation. You glanced up ahead, over the crowd of children’s heads to see Steve bickering with Lucas and Mike, Max poking him in the back with a long stick as she trudged behind them. “We’re adults.”

All three kids stared at you, expressionless and less than impressed.

“Have you and Steve ever kissed?” Will suddenly asked, letting the words burst out from his chest like he knew he shouldn’t have asked.

You tripped over a branch, the same fallen sticks that scattered the trail that you’d pulled Dustin away from. You turned to look at the boy so fast that your neck protested, your eyes wide.

“Because Steve looks at you like he wants to kiss you all the time.”

And then you were on the ground, gravel stuck to your bare knees and dirt on your hands and shins, swearing at the forest floor because all you could think about was the press of Harrington’s lips on yours, the way he dug his fingers into your sides like he couldn’t let go.

Fuck.

“Shit!” You cried out, hot, frustrated tears brimming at your lash line and you winced when you tried to stand back up.

Suzie dropped to the trail beside you, eyes worried as she took note of the blood that slipped down your leg, a nasty gash on your knee that looked like it came from the jagged piece of bark that lay beside you.

“Someone get Steve,” she started to say, a small hand on your shoulder that brought a little comfort.

But Dustin was already cupping his hands over his mouth and positively hollering over the line of kids that were oblivious to what was going on behind them.

“STEVE!”

You groaned, “Dustin, no, I’m fine, honest.”

“You’re bleeding!” Will protested, looking rather sickly at the sight of the red line that was quickly seeking into the white of your sock.

“STEEEVE!”

“Kill me,” you whispered to the ground, “just kill me.”

You saw Steve’s trainers before anything else, the soft thud, thud, thud of his soles on the dirt as he pushed his way through to you. You managed to shove yourself back, your knees protesting before dropping to your ass, inspecting your bloodied leg, wincing.

“Shit, are you okay?”

No comment about your clumsiness, or how you were dumb, or how your dirty, cut up knee looked gross. No, Steve’s voice was shockingly soft with concern as he dropped down on his haunches to inspect your injury.

“M’fine,” you muttered, cheeks warm because he was almost as close as he had been last night, smelling like leftover cologne and sunscreen, the strawberry smoothie you’d watched him grab at breakfast.

“Really?” He mused, his tone disbelieving. “‘Cause that looks pretty nasty, princess.”

His hand moved to cup the back of your sore knee, fingers tucked into the sensitive skin there as he went to inspect the scrape. You jolted at his touch, body electric underneath him and you watched the way Steve’s eyes widened at your reaction.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“What? No, yes, fuck,” you were panicking, you could hear it in your voice and from somewhere behind you, you heard the distinctive sound of Max Mayfield’s laugh. “Just, Christ, don’t touch me.”

“I’m trying to help, idiot,” Steve snarked but he backed off scowling. You watched how he flexed his hand after he let go of your leg, like his skin was burning the same way yours was, like he’d been scalded. “You need to go get that cleaned.”

You hated that the boy was right but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing out loud. Instead, you wrestled to your feet, grunting as you did so, wiggling your ankle to make sure you hadn’t suffered the same fate as Eddie. It seemed fine, nothing crunched at least, but the sting around your split skin screamed at you.

Another slide of red rushed from your cut and down your leg as you moved it and beside you, Will groaned, quickly moving into the crowd to find Mike, his head pushed into his friend's shoulder and his hands clutched at his own stomach.

A chorus of “eww’s” came from the kids and you weren’t fairing much better, your expression pitiful as you watched your white converse turn crimson. You held your leg out awkwardly, hardly balancing on your good one and every time you pushed your foot to the ground, you hissed.

It stung like a bitch.

But then Steve was clapping his hands, well into camp mother mode as he demanded the kids attention. To his credit, everyone looked at him, waiting for further instruction. Well, everyone except Max, who’d found a larger, longer stick and was holding it, javelin style.

“Okay, let’s go,” he announced, his eyes still on you, and you were still surprised to see worry knitted in the space between his brows. “Turn it around gremlins, everyone in front of us and take your time going back down, okay? Stick with your buddy.”

The kids obeyed, muttering between themselves about how much blood was on your leg and would Hopper let them go to the lake now instead? But they trailed back down the path, two by two, and you and Steve waited for the last pair to pass you before he turned, grimacing.

“Put your arm ‘round me.”

You baulked, staring at the boy as if he’d suddenly grown another head.

“What? No,” you hated that you sounded so nervous, and you wondered if he could tell.

“Christ, woman,” Steve rolled his eyes, offering a hand out to you, the warmth of it hovering close to the small of your back. “Can you swallow your fucking pride for a second and let me help you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed, but you wobbled on your one good leg and Steve didn’t try to hide his smile.

“Stubbornness, then,” he mused, eyes on you and his hand still hovering over your back as you started down the hill, an uneven step that had you swearing and muttering to yourself. “Spite, maybe?”

“Fuck you, Harrington,” you told him plainly, hardly any heat behind it for once due to all your attention focused on the pain you were in. Your poor sock was ruined.

Steve’s shoulder bumped yours, his body too close, acting like a buffer in case you fell again. You huffed every time you touched, bare arms brushing, hips grazing and his damn hand still an almost touch on your spine. You could feel the warmth radiate from him.

“Is that dare, princess?” He was smirking.

You stumbled, swearing profusely as you had no choice but to reach out and grab the boy. Steve was already halfway to you, his arm resting at your waist, his other hand catching yours as it grappled for purchase on something. His fingers curled around yours and you were surprised to realise, that aside from the night before, this was the most you had touched the boy in all the years you had known him.

It was dizzying. But maybe that was the blood loss. His palm was even warmer where it was pressed against your back, the dip where the band of your shorts sat, fitting into the curve rather nicely. Steve guided you down the trail, taking more of your weight when the ground became rockier, the gravel under your soles making you slip, your side falling into Steve’s.

“We’re not talking about that,” you told him, teeth clenched as your knee bent at a funny angle, a new kind of pain nipping at you.

“Oh, we’re not?” Steve asked, voice annoyingly light. You could feel his grin without having to look, like you knew the way the air changed when he smiled, everything warm and dizzying around you.

“Nope!” You declared, your tone leaving hardly any room for argument. Luckily for Steve, he always liked a challenge. “In fact,” you crowed, “it didn’t even happen.”

The boy snorted, a soft sound that you felt through your body, half of your back pressed into his chest as you both toed your way down the steepest part of the mountain. He held you to him, careful not to let you drop your weight onto your leg, one hand still curled large around your own, the other holding your waist now.

You swallowed, throat tight.

“It didn’t happen, huh?” Steve asked, voice low in your ear as you approached the back of the kids, Lucas and Suzie’s ears pricking up at the idea of eavesdropping. “That’s what we’re doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you repeated again, voice airy, nails digging into the back of Steve’s hand, a warning, another fight blooming in your chest.

Another snort, a tighter grip at your waist, as if he was trying to remind you of the way he held you last night, calloused fingertips pushing at the cotton of your t-shirt, barely touching the skin underneath.

You were so much warmer than when you were climbing up the mountain.

This waiting ‘rounds killing me.

The third week went by in a blur, your incident on the hike leaving you with a nasty cut on your knee that Joyce had to dig gravel and dirt out of, and a sudden overwhelming awareness of where Steve Harrington was at all times.

Your body lit up like a warning light every time he was near, a new agitation at the sight of his stupid hair and his stupid sunglasses and his stupid, stupid smirk.

He didn’t try to talk about the kiss again, he wasn’t that idiotic. But the energy between you both was a little different than before. It was still fiery, buzzing with tension and an electrical current that kept you on your toes, but it was different.

You weren’t sure if you liked it.

The week led up to the annual game of hide and seek, the entire camp split into two teams, the cabins turned into bases, the inside of the old gym a ghost town. No one was surprised when Murray declared you and Steve team leaders - one seeking, the other hiding - the camp cheering and whistling as you both took your new shirts, both with ‘captain’ printed on the back.

You’d barely led your team away from the middle of the camp before you heard Steve declare:

“Okay listen up, we need to win.”

You appraised your own squad with the same focused stare that Steve had, your gaze settling over Eddie and Nancy, the gaggle of kids that were all smearing face paint over their friends. War stripes on their cheeks, bandana’s wrapped around their foreheads and Dustin had even gone as far as to don a green ski mask.

You squinted at him, wondering if you should ask where he got such a thing but you decided against it, voice endearing as you said, “Dustin, sweetie, I don’t think you’re going to be able to see very well out of that.”

And before he could argue his case, Eddie pinched the top of it, whipping the fabric from his head, curls spilling out messily. The boy pouted, but he didn’t argue, instead standing still enough to let Lucas smear blue lines over his face.

“You gonna force me into the smallest corner you can find?” Eddie had turned to you whilst Nancy handed out some bottles of water, hushing the trash talk that was starting to get out of hand between Lucas and Suzie.

You grinned, looking at Eddie with an easy smile, shrugging, “maybe. You’re pretty flexible, right Munson?”

The boy snorted, shoulder nudging into yours, “like a fucking gymnast, sweetheart.”

You fell into a soft conversation with Eddie, a rare occurrence in the craziness of the camp, all gentle laughs and hands pushed to arms, cracked jokes and the promise of a joint after the game was over. And then Steve was there, almost too close, brows knitted together as he watched the way his bunkmate pressed teasing fingers into your ribs, making you squeak.

“Are we flirting or are we playing?” He snapped, shoulder brushing yours. But Steve wasn’t looking at you, his stare heavy and trained on Eddie. “Hey dude, didn’t Joyce tell you you’ve got to stick with Will?”

Eddie could read his friend like a book. He smirked, unable to help himself when Steve was making it so obvious, but he nodded, moving away from you to tussle at Will’s hair.

“Sure am, Harrington,” the longer-haired boy smiled good naturedly, “little Byers and I are gonna find the best spot, right kid?”

Will nodded enthusiastically, inhaler in hand and Mike at his side. But Steve was still scowling, eyes finally meeting yours before he turned suddenly, marching back to his team as if he couldn’t bear to be around you for any longer.

And that was fine with you. Totally fine.

From then, it was chaos, carnage across the camp with kids running riot, wrestling for the best hiding spot as Hopper and Murray watched from the office window, cups of coffee in hand.

It went the way it always did, with Mike and Will caught first, the latter giving away their hiding spot way too soon because his allergies made him sneeze, the other boy refusing to split from his friend.

Eddie trailed behind them, lazy and unbothered about being out of the game so early, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, waiting for Murray to stop watching.

The kids spread around the camp in clusters, hiding in beached kayaks, under the dock, squeezed between the crash mats in the gym. Max was caught out in the open - after being refused sanctuary in Hopper’s office - scowl on her face, El dragged behind her, grinning as you laughed.

“Hit the benches,” Steve had told them both, watching as they took their consolation s’mores from Joyce and sat with the rest of the captured kids around the fire.

Steve’s team took out the other kids one by one, screams and laughter heard across the forest, campers crawling out from underneath decking and out of trees, covered in mud and nettle stings, but so, so happy.

And then there were hardly any players left.

But Steve bypassed Dustin and Lucas, the two boys snickering underneath an overturned canoe, and he headed to the gym instead. The old building was empty, his footsteps echoing on the linoleum and the lights were off, the sun that was starting to set just barely shining in the high set windows.

It painted stripes of light and shadows on the floor and the air seemed golden. Steve kicked at the crash mats that were stacked and

pushed against a wall, his movements playful and throwing dust mites into the air. They caught the light, floating, glittering and Steve saw a pair of shoes sticking out from behind the ball cage and he grinned.

If you heard him walking over, you didn’t show it, stubbornly standing your ground until Steve rounded the corner, eyes bright on yours.

“You’re losing your edge, princess, that was far too easy.”

You were scowling at him and you pushed yourself away from the cage, the wheels squeaking as you rounded the other side, eyes on the boy. It was familiar, that feeling, that push and pull, a chase, a challenge, a dare.

“Don’t kid yourself Harrington, I’ve been waiting here for about an hour now.”

Steve followed, eyes trailing over your bare legs, the swell of your ass in your shorts, freckle on your thigh, the silver scar on your knee from the hike. You noticed, brows raised and you snorted when he shrugged, unapologetic in a way you hadn’t seen before.

He didn’t care if you caught him staring. Steve Harrington had always been the first to call you annoying, stubborn, a thorn in his side. But he’d never tried to deny that you were good to look at.

“That’s only ‘cause I was enjoying the peace and quiet,” Steve shot back and you smiled at him, eyes narrowed, overly fake. “But it looks like I win, who would’ve thought?”

But you were still moving, stepping around the pile of mats, the cold material brushing against your shins and the light from the window made you glow, eyes too bright, smile sharp.

You stared at the boy from across the crash pads, voice sticky sweet when you asked, “don’t you have to tag the other opponent before they’re out?”

Steve stopped, level with you across the hall and he grinned. And fuck, he looked pretty like that, standing in a sunbeam, freckles on his nose, hands on hips and eyes burning on you.

You weren’t arguing, not quite, not yet. But it still felt fun.

Steve looked around, eyes conspiring, and he smirked. “There’s no one here to say I didn’t, princess.”

And then you were moving again, circling each other, smiling a different kind of playfulness and you tutted, pushing your hands into the back pockets of your shorts and you smirked when Steve followed the movement of it.

“Cheating? C’mon now, wonder boy, you’re above that. Daddy’s not here.”

Steve twisted his lips, ran a hand through his already messy hair and made it flop into his eyes and he pretended to think, just for a second or two, as if he didn’t already know what he was gonna throw back at you.

“Usually,” he told you, voice low, a little rougher than before. “But I think you owe me one, princess.”

You quirked a brow at him, standing still, one knee lifted and pressed to the mats to steady yourself.

“Is that so?”

There was a fizz in the air that hadn’t been there before.

“You got to win your little dare ‘cause of me,” he told you and god, something shifted. Maybe the sun dropped, maybe the shadows got darker, maybe the air got heavier. “I saved you from the clutches of Hargrove.”

You scoffed, turning and going back to walking around the mat, hiding the way your cheeks burned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, remember?”

But Steve just grinned, that wide, bright kinda smile that showed off the dimples you almost forgot he had. He looked boyish like this, handsome in a pretty way, soft and full of sun. Maybe it was because he was looking at you without the lines between his brows, the downturn of his lips.

“Oh but you do, don’t you, sweetheart?”

‘Sweetheart’ was starting to sound less like an insult, less like a jab, when Steve said it. His voice was softer, a teasing pitch to it, that sounded so much different than you’d heard and you decided that you didn’t hate it.

Not at all.

But the boy was talking about the kiss and he was looking at you like you both shared a secret, despite the very public location it happened in. He was acting as if he liked it, as if he wanted you to admit that you did too.

You stopped, converse digging into the wall the mats made, eyes wary on the boy because Steve kept walking. He found one side, then the other, only pausing when you were a foot away from him. He mirrored you, hands shoved into his own pockets as he watched you through messy hair.

“What d’you want me to say, Harrington? Huh?” you smiled, sardonic, lips twisted to the side and gaze careful. You didn’t want to give anything away. “You want me to tell you that I liked it, is that it?”

Steve smirked, enjoying your tone, the teasing, the push of the taunt, the bite to your voice. He knew it so well.

“You want me to tell you that you’re a good kisser? Does wonder boy need a little ego boost?”

“Oh princess, I don’t need anyone to tell me that.“

Steve’s voice was a drawl. Heavy, warm, sticking to you like the summer heat, all low, hot sun and sweetness.

You were too warm, a tumble low in your stomach, a flush across your chest.

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Steve continued,voice far too casual, as if he wasn't making you think about the dirtiest things imaginable.

“You’re a pig.”

“You love it.”

“You fucking wish, Harrington.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, princess.”

You weren’t sure when you’d moved closer. Neither was Steve, really. But you were once again in your favourite position with the boy, toe to toe and your chin tilted up defiantly to stare at him. He looked too happy, excited even.

“I’m not playing your games,” you narrowed your eyes at him, hands on your hips in an arrogant display, trying your best to prove that you weren’t as affected by the boy as you actually were.

The toes of his shoes brushed yours and you could smell his cologne, the forest on him, campfire smoke and pine, leftover rain and something minty.

“No?” Steve asked and his eyes were tracing the features of your face, the length of your lashes, the dip of your Cupid’s bow, the curve of your lip. “Not even if I pick dare?“

You swallowed, hard.

You weren’t sure what this was. Not anymore. Because it didn’t feel like the arguments you usually had, the poking and pushing and pulling at each other until something snapped and the yelling started. In fact, you were sure this was the quietest you’d ever been around Steve Harrington.

Except for the thundering of your heart. It beat against your ribs, a drumming sound that you wondered if Steve would hear. It made your body vibrate, it made your chest feel fit to burst and you couldn’t help but part your lips under his stare, sucking in a breath that you suddenly so desperately needed.

Steve did the same, an instinctual response to watching you, his tongue wetting at his bottom lip, his eyes heavy and hooded. You didn’t remember taking another step towards him, but you don’t recall Steve moving either. It was all a slow lean, a curl into each other’s bodies, slower and softer than the first time.

Your hand was on his chest again, fingers splayed across his shirt rather than fisting it in your palm and god, you still really weren’t sure if it was to encourage him closer or shove him away.

But then his touch was at your waist and the sun finally dipped below the windows and the hall went dark. The shadows sparkled as you got used to the lack of light, Steve’s face a pretty palette of lilacs and navy, the rosy tint of his lips looking deeper and closer to you than ever.

The slide of your nose against his, stuttering and a little clumsy, unsure and nervous. Everything in your body was screaming at you. To push him away, to pull him towards you, to chew him out, to devour him.

Steve fucking Harrington made you want to yell, to fight, to roll your eyes and rant for an hour and a half. Steve fucking Harrington made you want to be slammed against a wall, pushed down onto a bed, lips on your neck and kisses that were all tongue and teeth.

His breath huffed against your cheek, slow and careful like he was still deciding what to do too. Steve was cherry cola and the heat of an argument, cedar and spice and bad decisions. Steve was a hot touch on your waist, a white hot burn through your shirt and a tight grip that was sending you to another level of frustration.

Then light flooded the gym, a bright burst of it coming from the main doors as the very last of the low setting sun leaked through as they slammed open.

The noise of them hitting the wall made you both jump, the angry squeak of the hinges bringing both back to the harsh reality of who you were about to kiss. You stumbled and Steve tripped, falling backwards onto the crash mats with a soft “fuck” as you turned to see Nancy and Robin standing in the doorway.

No one spoke, not for a few seconds and the quiet was painful.

But then Nancy cleared her throat, a smirk on her face that she covered with her hand and Robin grinned.

“Um, all the kids have been found,” she told you both, glee in her voice that she couldn’t cover and god, you were burning with a new kind of heat. “We’re doing story time.”

“And uh, one of you needs to take over,” Nancy explained, still smothering a laugh under what she thought was a serious expression. “Billy started talking about demogorgons and made Will cry, so…”

“Again?” Steve muttered from his seat on the mat. “I thought Eddie told him that it was all made up.”

You didn’t dare look down at him, your body still overly aware of his, his shoulder brushing against your thigh as he moved and when he clambered to his feet, you were spurned into motion, your legs carrying you quickly across the gym.

Your shoes squeaked on the floor and your heart was still racing, leaving you feeling like a hormonal teenager who was out of control and unable to handle some stupid boy being too close. Grabbing Robin’s hand, you mumbled some sort of thanks to Nancy and then made up a lie about feeling sick, and how you needed to go back to your cabin now.

Looking at your flushed skin and glassy eyes, no one could really argue with that. So you left Steve with the responsibility of the nightly campfire story and ignored Robin’s husky laughter as you pulled her through the trees and the dark until you got back to your shared bunk.

You flew into the cabin like a bat out of hell, doing everything in your power to get away from the boy as quickly as you could. Robin was close behind you, still cackling before she slammed the door, just as you dumped yourself onto your bed, groaning.

The other girl braced herself, back against the wood, facial expression scandalised as she stared at you wide eyed and through messy bangs.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looked like you and Harrington were about to rail each other on those fucking crash mats.”

You spluttered, the sound of protest getting caught in your throat as you tried to sit up, pushing yourself onto your elbows so you could glare at Robin, trying your best to look appalled.

“What?!” You choked out, and you knew you were beetroot, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the flush over your chest. “No we weren’t!”

“You know,” Robin mused, head tilted to the side as she looked at you, “your summer could be a lot more fun if you just admitted you don’t hate him as much as you claim to.”

Another noise came from your throat in response, strangled and panicked as you paced the cabin, old floorboards creaking under your feet.

“I do hate him,” you insisted, turning your back to the girl to fuss over a pile of clothes you’d left on your dresser after laundry day. You wondered if she’d be able to see the lie on your face, if she could hear it in your voice. “Harrington is a pain in my ass, he has been since-”

“Seventh grade, yeah, yeah,” Robin interrupted, her voice bored and impatient, and she waved a dismissive hand at you. “Science fair, vegetables, Steve and mentos and his dad, I know.”

You glared at her, clothes abandoned, clean shorts dropping to the floor, your arms now crossed. You hated that you were pouting.

“He didn’t look like he was causing you too much grief when you had him up against the gym wall the other week…”

“That was a dare!”

“And now - in the gym again actually - do you have some sort of kink?”

“Robin…” you were groaning, pleading.

“Is it a competitive thing? It gets you both going?”

“Nothing happened! We were- we were arguing!”

The other girl smirked, eyebrows raised and her back still pushed against the doorway. “Yeah, but babe, that’s foreplay for you.”

“I hate you,” you lied and there was no heat behind it, in fact, it only made your friend grin wider.

“As much as Steve?” She asked, voice sweet. “Should I light some candles? Pop a mint?”

“You’re a dick,” your voice was mulish but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“You’re in denial,” Robin shot back, still sounding far too happy about the discussion. “Don’t you think all that pent up frustration could be easily solved?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. The girl was moving towards you, eyebrows wiggling as she ran her hands over her chest in what you assumed was supposed to be a suggestive manner.

“Y’know, there’s other things your mouths could do instead of arguing.”

You pretended to gag, face scrunched up at the thought of it and you went back to sorting through your laundry. “You sound like Murray.”

“I knew he was a sensible man,” she told you and you scoffed because you’d watched Murray Bauman light a firework with the end of Billy’s cigarette last summer.

“But seriously, you’ve got to be attracted to him, right?”

“Murray?” You asked, all faux innocence, “he’s a bit old, no? Hopper, however-”

“You’re disgusting,” Robin snorted, grabbing at the pile of clothes you were hoarding, taking some of her own shirts to fold as she levelled you with a stare. “And you’re not fooling anyone. I’m very much gay - like, with a capital ‘G’ - and even I can say Steve is easy on the eyes.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” you tutted, “his head will get bigger.”

“Oh absolutely not.”

You fell into an easy silence then, clothes folded and sorted on your beds and you were surprised when Robin - perpetually messy - even went as far as to make her bed from that morning.

It gave you too much time to think. About how the boy had been almost nice to you at some points this summer, helping you when you fell, teasing instead of scathing, always too close, always nearby. It made you notice him too much, made you far too aware of him.

Like how his skin tanned so easily, new freckles every other day, how blue and yellow looked good on him, how when he got too close you noticed he had some green in his eyes. You knew he liked a smoothie for breakfast, he turned softer and quieter when speaking to Will, he encouraged Max to run faster, jump higher, swim deeper, that it was okay to be a little scared sometimes.

You stopped, a choked breath of complete indignation leaving your lips and dropped the pyjamas you’d been folding and marched to the door.

“Uh, where are you going?”

“To tell fucking Harrington that I know his game,” you seethed, “and that it’s not fucking working.”

Robin looked startled. “What?!”

You flung the door open and cringed when it hit the wooden wall behind it but you barely paid it any mind. The woods were dark, the sky inky and it smelled like rain was coming.

“His game!” You urged, and god, you sounded a little manic, didn’t you? “He’s trying to get me to like him. And it’s not happening, he’s not winning!”

“Winning what?” Robin was almost yelling, confusion colouring her tone and she squinted at you.

“I don’t know!” You told her, mouth agape because Jesus Christ, you really didn’t know, but you’d be damned if you let the boy think he had some kind of one up on you.

“Babe, curfew is in like, ten minutes.”

One glance at the clock on the wall told you that Robin was right, but stubbornness won out over sensibility so you made a strangled sound and shrugged, closing the door behind you a little too loudly and you made your way over the carpet of pine needles, heading towards the other cabins.

—————

Eddie answered when you knocked, wearing an old, Metallica hoodie that was too big, his long curls pulled messily back into a bun and he grinned, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

“Now, I’m pretty certain you’re not here for me,” he told you, voice all light and full of a humour that you didn’t appreciate, “but there’s absolutely no fucking way you’re here for Harrington.”

You scowled.

“Is he in?”

Eddie cackled, pushing himself away from the door as he called out over his shoulder, looking thoroughly entertained.

“Hey, big boy, you’ve got a lady caller.”

This was starting to seem like an incredibly bad idea. Your irritation had waned slightly as you’d marched across the dark forest, the fresh air soothing your anger just a touch. But before you could change your mind, Steve appeared at the door, barefoot and shirtless, his hair messy and wearing nothing but a pair of low slung grey sweats.

For the love of fucking god.

He had a towel thrown over his shoulder, like he’d planned on taking a shower, but he seemed content to stay and talk to you, his body leaning lazy on the door frame like Eddie had.

“Princess,” Steve greeted, sounding bemused, “is this a booty call?”

From inside the cabin, Eddie snorted and you both made a point of ignoring him.

“Absolutely fucking not,” you told him, outraged at the idea of it. But you were warm again, tongue feeling clumsy and too thick in your mouth and you started to wondered when the fuck Steve Harrington made you feel nervous. “And that’s the reason I’m here, actually.”

Steve simply raised his brows, crossing his arms over his chest. He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips.

“Oh?”

“Mhmm, yeah,” you were stalling, trying to remember why you were actually standing outside with Steve at nine o’clock at night. His arms were entirely too distracting, the muscles there tensing and flexing as he moved. “I know what you're up to, Harrington.”

“You do?” Steve smirked, entirely entertained the way your gaze landed on his shoulders, his bare chest. “What am I up to, exactly?”

“This shit, that you keep pulling,” you told him, gesturing between the two of you. The space there crackled, it popped and buzzed with something unseen and electric, and you swore Steve felt it too. He had to, right? “This flirty, ‘lemme help you walk down the mountain’ crap.”

Steve was staring. And from inside, on his bed, Eddie was cackling again.

“Would you rather I’d left you to hobble down by yourself?” Steve asked, lips twisted to hide his amusement. Your eyes were flashing with annoyance, and you’d leant against the porch fence for support, back to the wood and hands curled around the ledge. “Let a mountain lion get you?”

“There aren’t any mountain lions in Indiana,” you replied scathingly.

“A bear then,” Steve shrugged, and Christ, he was grinning again, dimple and all. “Anyway, you think I’m flirting with you, princess?”

You stared, suddenly speechless.

“I’d have more luck getting Munson into bed with me than managing to have a pleasant conversation with you, sweetheart.”

But then Eddie was yelling from inside the cabin, a pillow hitting Steve’s back as he called out, “ready when you are, honey.”

Steve ignored him, eyes still on you. “If you think that I’m flirting with you, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He oozed too much confidence, sarcasm and charm.

It pissed you off.

“Well then stop it!” you growled, pushing yourself off of the porch fence and moving towards Steve. You stared up at him, stubborn, face tilted up to him, eyes defiant. You couldn’t help but push a finger into his bare chest. God, he was warm. “Stop doing-”

“Stop doing what? Huh?” Steve was smiling. Why was he smiling?

You stumbled over your breath, it hitched in your throat and honestly it only caused more anger to bubble in your chest. Was it anger? Annoyance? Frustration?

“Stop - stop, getting all close to me all the time, stop calling me princess and stop doing this thing where you’re clearly trying to distract me.”

Steve raised his brows, looking down at the small space between the two of you. He tilted his head, smirk dripping with amusement and you knew you could argue anymore. You’d moved to him, chests almost brushing, warmth radiating off of him to you, sharing the same air.

Fuck.

“Do I distract you?”

The facade dropped. The game, the challenge, the fight - whatever it was - it stopped. Genuine surprise coloured the boy's tone and he uncrossed his arms, leaving his chest open and more space between you both. He was so warm, you could feel it from his skin, like the sun lived in his chest and he swallowed the summer.

Steve looked shy, all of a sudden. Face flushed, eyes bright and wide and his lips dropped into a pretty ‘o’. Even in the dark, you could make out the pink of his cheeks, the tips of his ears and he was looking at you like an entirely different kind of challenge. A puzzle maybe, a new type of game.

“What?” you were panicking inside. That white hot flash of embarrassment ran up your spine, blooming over your chest until blood rushed loud in your ears. “What? No, I didn’t say that.”

“You definitely just said that.” There it was, that smile again.

“I didn’t,” you scoffed, eyes searching anywhere but his. You stared at the door behind him, groaning when Eddie waved from his bed, grin wider than Steve’s.

“You did,” Eddie added to the conversation, all soft smiles and messy curls. “I heard you.”

Suddenly you had had enough of boys.

“Oh for fuck sake.”

You stormed away from Steve with more swears mixing in with the night air, your frustration taken out on the stairs as you stomped back down them, trainers kicking up pine needles and fallen acorns as you made your way back to your own cabin, completely done with Steve fucking Harrington.

PART TWO

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