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thephantomofthe-internet · 5 years

Text

Problem Solver

Steve Harrington x Reader

Word Count: 5,668

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Abortion

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Lemme know if you want a sequel to this one, I’d love to explore this concept further!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckhargrove @mickmoon @alex--awesome--22 @hawkeyeharrington @songforhema @carolimedanvers @thechickvic @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @spidey-pal @buckybarneshairpullingkink @marvelismylifffe

The tile of your bathroom floor was freezing on your bare feet, your fleece pyjama pants around your ankles. It was four in the morning, way too early to be awake on any day, especially not a Saturday. But you needed space to do this. You had to be careful.

The pregnancy test was on the counter, the egg timer ticking down slowly. You had never been more anxious before in your life. You crushed the box tightly in your fist, stolen from the pharmacy; you were too anxious to actually pay for it. You couldn’t let the cashier tell your mother about it or even let her see the receipt.

You needed to not be pregnant. Desperately. You couldn’t be pregnant. You were too young, too scared to be a single mother. It had to be a false alarm.

You felt stupid. You should’ve been careful; you should’ve said something when he didn’t have a condom. You should’ve stopped. But you didn’t.

As the timer got closer and closer to the zero, you grabbed it, forcing it to stop before the trilling ring came out, waking up your whole house.

You took a shaking breath, eyes rolling to the water marked ceiling as your clammy hands reached out for the test, tapping lightly on the counter until you hit the plastic test, pulling it over to you. You eyes fluttered shut as you levelled your head again, crossing your fingers in a silent prayer before opening your eyes.

The pink plus sign was clear as day.

Pregnant.

“Fuck…” you muttered, letting your head drop into your hands. You were so screwed.

All you could do was go back to bed, hiding the test in your dresser, climbing up the heap of blankets, begging the universe to let you sleep and to wake up and for everything to be fine again. But you knew that the universe didn’t work that way; you had to face the problem head on. You let hot, fat tears slip down your face, silent sobs wracking through your gut and chest, your throat tightening into a Gordian knot.

At seven o’clock, you forced yourself out of bed and into clean clothes. You forced yourself to the kitchen and forced a spoon of peanut butter into your mouth, the only thing you thought you could keep down, too upset to eat. You grabbed the yellow phone book off the counter, marked up with sticky notes for important numbers. You carried it to your room, grabbing the canary yellow rotary phone off the hall table, drawing the long cord down the hall and into your room, shutting the door and sitting down in front of it, pressing your back against the pressboard door.

You put the phone by your feet, flipping open the phonebook to the list of medical numbers, scrolling through to find a number for a woman’s health centre. There was a Planned Parenthood in Chicago, a three hour drive away, which felt like a risk, but you called anyway.

You could tell that the receptionist on the other end, who introduced herself as Amy, was trying to be nice to you, but it felt forced and harsh, sympathy training gone wrong. She warned you that you’d need parental consent if you were under eighteen before anything could be performed and it would cost $150.00. You told her that you understood and made the appointment for the next weekend.

You decided not to tell the father, he didn’t need to be involved. In fact, you decided not to tell anyone. You took off work the Saturday of your appointment, but you worked all that week, trying to flush your bank account with enough money to pay for the procedure.

If anyone asked you what happened that school week, you wouldn’t have had an answer. Your mind was on other things, on the drive to Chicago and the appointment itself. You just wanted to be done with that week, but Friday night proved to be the longest one yet.

Sitting at dinner with your parents, you pushed peas around your plate, eyes trailing the clock. “Hey ma? I was wondering if I could have the car tomorrow. I’m supposed to go to the mall in Greenville with Vicki and I thought I’d offer to drive us, since she usually gets Tommy to drive us and that means we have to invite Carol and it’s a whole thing.” You rambled, hoping that the influx of information would confuse your mother enough to give you the answer you wanted just to shut you up.

“Sweetheart, you know that your father and I are going to visit Aunt Shelley in Gary this weekend, we need the car. I’m sorry but you’re just going to have to deal with Tommy and Carol.” Your mother replied, reaching over to cut up your little sister’s chicken, smiling easily, as though she couldn’t feel the walls around you closing in.

“Unless of course you want to come along, I’m sure Aunt Shelley and Uncle Marvin would love to see you.” Your father added, but you weren’t listening, anymore. You pushed your plate away from you, tossing your napkin on the table top.

“May I be excused?” you asked. Your mother opened her mouth to answer you, but you were already turning on your heel and heading out of the dining room and upstairs. You had to be alone again. You needed a new plan.

Alone in your room, you forced your window open, your whole body trembling. Your lungs were on fire, eyes stung with tears. All week you’d been emotional, ready to cry at the drop of a hat, and this little change in the plan was the icing on the cake. You stuck your head out the window, forcing cold evening air into your lungs, trying to catch your breath and lessen the lump in your throat. You needed to calm down; you needed to be rational again.

Looking out at the dark street, streetlights like spotlights over the road, you watched as a car pulled into the driveway adjacent to yours, the only car at the house. You watched as a boy with a careful constructed coif and toned shoulders and arms stepped out, tossing what looked to be keys up and down, his entire body screaming ease and comfort.

Steve Harrington.

You and Steve were sort of friends. Key word sort of. He and you ran in similar circles but you’d never had to be close to get through parties at Tina’s and smoking at Tommy’s. But there were times that you were; first in sixth grade when Macy had convinced you that he was in love with you and you developed a tiny crush on him and then in freshman year when he had an actual crush on you and you had assumed he was just trying to be your friend. Both times had ended in awkward heart break for one party and awkward parties for awhile after until one of you moved on. You got your heart broken when you caught him in the closet at Carol’s making out with Mackenzie Fisher, his first ever girlfriend. And Steve got his broken when he asked you out and you laughed in his face, assuming it to be a joke. Since then, things were a bit tense and awkward, though it lessened when he started dating Nancy Wheeler. You always felt like you were skating on thin ice with him, like any second you could mess up and crash through the ice, even with Nancy around cutting the tension and the power of sticky weed and cheap liquor breaking down the walls of your social hierarchy.

But in that, with your head stuck pathetically out the window, his car was more appealing than even before.

Your fingers flew over the rotary dial, the number still engrained in your mind and fingers. You wondered if his mother was home, his father seemingly always gone on business. But when the phone was picked up on the first ring, you knew he was alone, his mother always took four rings to pick up the phone, not allowing anyone else to pick up the phone out of fear of seeming desperate.

“This is the casa de Harrington, Steve here.” Steve greeted, his tone jovial and relaxed. You could practically see him flopped on the overstuffed brown leather couch in their living room, a hand running through his long tresses.

“Hey Steve it’s…uh it’s Y/N.” you said, curling the yellow coiled cord around your finger.

“Oh hey Y/N, what’s up?”

You sighed “Look, um this is weird but…I was wondering if you could drive me into Chicago tomorrow…I’d do it myself but my parents are driving out to Gary and I have an appointment out there. If you can’t help me it’s totally fine, I get it, it’s a weird request.” You sputtered, closing your eyes tight.

Steve was quiet for a long time, at a loss for words. Your stomach dropped, practically hearing the ice crack under your feet. You backtracked quickly “Look, I’m sorry this was stupid, I shouldn’t have bothered you, sorry.” You went to hang up the receiver, but a voice rang out from the other end.

“Y/N, wait.” Tentatively, you pushed the receiver back to you ear, unsure what to say “I can drive you, it’s not a big deal. Just tell me what time we have to leave.” He said, his soft an octave softer, clearly concerned.

“My appointments at ten o’clock, so we have to be out early. I can chip in for gas or we can drive it in shifts if you want, or I can find my own way back if you need-” he cut you off.

“Y/N. It’s not a big deal, I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, okay? If you wanna help, you can bring me a coffee, okay?” he replied easily. Steve was being too giving, too genuine, and it made your skin crawl, like he was watching you.

But you nodded, you got him to spill how he liked his coffee, you held back your giggles when he admitted just how much cream and sugar he needed to make the stuff drinkable, you said polite goodbyes and you thanked him again. Then you went to bed, not bothering to wish your parents a good night. Your body felt impossibly tired, a week of anxiety crashing through your body and pushing into dreamland.

Your alarm rang out a six o’clock the next morning, pushing your groggy body out of bed and into the shower, finally finding the energy to wash your greasy hair, eyes closed so you wouldn’t look at your stomach, which you swore was getting bigger every time you looked at it. You dressed cautiously, pulling on the thick knit skirt your mother had insisted you’d need for something, wondering to yourself if this was what she meant. You pulled on warm layers and tied your hair into a thick black scrunchie at the top of your head, messy and tangled and wet but away from your neck.

Your parents were still asleep, they wouldn’t leave for Gary till later that morning, giving you plenty of time to get in and get out without question. You tip toed down the stairs, stepping over the well known squeaky step and into the kitchen. You pulled out a paper coffee filter and dropped it into the top of the machine, filling it with grounds and flicking on the power button, the sound of the water boiling filling your senses. You remembered that you couldn’t have caffeine before the procedure, so you pulled out the electric kettle, boiling a separate pot for you as you dug through the various teas your mother bought on various whims, trying to find something without caffeine that wouldn’t taste like absolute crap. You finally decided on just have honey and lemon, pretending that you were sick made the whole trip feel more normal to you.

You pour the hot drinks into two Styrofoam cup, pouring honey and dropping sliced lemon into yours and enough sugar and cream into the other to make nearly white. You kept your eyes on the Harrington house, hoping that Steve remembered his promise to you.

You scrawled a note to your parents on a scrap piece of paper which you pinned to the refrigerator door.

“Mom and dad,

Me and Vicki decided to go for breakfast before driving into Greenville, say hi to Aunt Shelly and Uncle Marvin for me, I’ll call there when I get home. See you on Sunday!

~Y/N”

You heard a horn honk outside the house, your eyes snapped up to see Steve waving at you from his driveway, his eyes sleepy and his smile wide and soft. You waved tentatively back, pulling your purse onto your shoulders, popping plastic lids on the cups and marching towards the door, forcing a bright smile on your face as you crossed the street to meet him.

“You ready to go?” Steve asked, taking the cup from you with nod of thanks.

You nodded “Yeah, let’s do this.” Steve chuckled, popping the passenger seat door open for you, letting you in with a silly sweep of the hand, earning a little giggle from you. It was going to be a long drive.

Despite music playing from Steve’s stereo, the silence in the car was unbearable. You’d run out of things to talk about fairly quickly, Steve avoided the topic of your appointment out of politeness, but as Chicago grew closer, he needed to know where he was going.

And he worried about you. Ever since middle school when he broke your heart, he’d kept his eye on you, trying to ensure that you were happy and secure in your life. At first he felt like it was an obligation, a way of apologizing to you beyond words, but it became second nature to him, watching out for you as though you were one of his own, a prototype to the way he’d come to watch the middle schoolers he’d adopted. He’d punched out your first boyfriend, a squirmy boy named Brian, after he’d told their entire gym class how bad you were in bed. Did he have a good excuse? No, but listening to some kid treat you so terribly behind your back made his blood boil, igniting a fire behind his eyes and tightening his core. Driving you to Chicago felt like another obligation in watching you, making sure that you were still okay. But it bothered him to watch you twitch in the seat next to him.

“So,” he broached the silence with a brave, easy smile, “Where’re we going here?” he asked, the sign signalling Chicago was only five miles away.

You had been tearing the edges of the map in your lap, trying to calm your twitching hands and racing heart. You reached into your bag, pulling out the yellow legal pad you’d written the directions on, scanning the chicken scrawl for a sign of legible instructions.

“We’re looking for North Humberland Court.” You read, eyes locked on the page. You refused to admit where you were actually going, to admit that it would make it real and you refused to believe that it actually was. You weren’t going to a clinic to have an abortion with Steve Harrington.

“Alright…” he muttered, scanning signs for the street you’d named. The fact that you were so quiet made him nervous. Something was wrong, even he could sense it. “So why couldn’t your parents drive you out here? To the doctor I mean.”

“Like I told you, they’re going to visit some family today, they needed the car. I’m old enough to handle this stuff without them anyway…” you replied quickly.

“Why schedule an appointment if they knew they wouldn’t be in town?” he asked. God, sometimes you wondered if Steve Harrington had any sort of deduction skill. In this case, it worked in your favour.

“It was a mistake, they told me to cancel but it was hard to get and I wasn’t gonna wait around for another chance.” You told him, finding a relaxed smile, leaning back in the chair for the first time in the entire drive.

Steve hummed “Right…” he looked at you for just a second, catching the look of anxious fear in your eyes that made his heart lurch and made him drive faster. You looked almost scary-the smile looked so natural, but your eyes were so far from matching, you almost looked like a psychopath.

“They don’t know that you’re out here, do you?” he said, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. Your head snapped to look at him, shocked that he’d figured it out, which felt silly in retrospect-Steve wasn’t stupid, he just had no forethought when he spoke, making him seem dumber than he actually was.

You opened your mouth to retort, but you had nothing. Instead, you sighed, looking away. “Look, it’s just one of those things.” You said.

“I need to know where we’re going here, Y/N, like are we actually even going to the doctor at all?” he pressed.

“We are going to the doctor, I didn’t lie about that.” You replied. Steve watched you for a second, looking for more cracks in your façade. But your smile had dropped, your face finally expressing what your eyes had been screaming the whole ride. He nodded, turning down the long street you had requested.

“Just tell me where to turn.” He muttered and you nodded, muttering back “Stay in the left lane…”

North Humberland was a longer street than you’d expected, but halfway down in a small, unassuming building, was the Planned Parenthood. You nodded for Steve to turn, watching him for a sign of something, anything. You wanted to know if he judged you, if he was scared or hurt or disgusted-if everyone saw you the way you saw yourself. But he didn’t look like he felt any of those things, he looked eerily calm and comfortable with this scenario, as though he’d been there before. Maybe he had, you realized in that moment how little you knew about him.

There were a few sparse protestors outside, all in pink shirts with Bristol board signs, declaring that you were a baby killer and that abortion is murder. You hadn’t thought much about what you were doing, it just felt like a chore to you like an annual check up or a teeth cleaning. You hadn’t even realized what was inside you was technically a life to these people, a baby to these hallowed few. Watching them and their signs walk their picket line, their glares and scowls targeting your car as you pulled in. They had their teeth bared and their fists clenched tightly around their signs like weapons.

You looked to Steve, in almost the same way you’d look to your parents as a small child, for guidance and support. He sent you a small smile and nodded towards the front door, waiting for you to make the first move. You let out a sigh, pulling your bag off the floor and popping open the side door, dropping your feet onto the pavement. Steve stuck close to you, his hand pressed into the small of your back, pushing you past the screaming hoard who called you a murderer and a sinner.

The girl who answered your call, Amy, was at the desk, her false smile and terrible phone voice matched her face; she looked like the head cheerleader forced to be nice to everyone. She handed you your paperwork and verified your I.D, both of you knowing that it was fake but neither saying anything. You took a seat in the plastic chair, propping the clipboard on your knee. Steve sat next to you, you hadn’t realized that he had taken your hand while you were handling receptionist Amy until he let you go, and you oddly missed it when he let go.

“I wish you’d told me…” Steve whispered, slouching down in his chair to whisper into your ear, arms crossed over his chest.

You rolled your eyes “What was I supposed to say, Steve? Hey, I know we’re not really friends but I need an abortion, wanna come with? Yeah, I’m sure you’d love that call, totally would’ve gotten me a ride here…” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly over your chest. You felt younger than you actually were, like an angry preteen rather than the girl about the head to college in just a few months.

“Would’ve been better than lying to me...” Steve seemed hurt by your small lie, in a way you didn’t quite understand. You’d done nothing to hurt him; nothing about this situation even truly involved him. It made your blood boil-for once, something wasn’t about him and he had to get his emotions all in it.

“I didn’t lie!” you snapped “I told you I have an appointment in Chicago and I do, it just so happens to be the appointment.”

Steely silence covered you like a blanket. Steve knew you were right, he knew he was in the wrong here. But he couldn’t look at you, it hurt too bad. If he had chosen to stick around, to be genuinely be your friend and not creep around in the shadows of your life. He was sure he could’ve stopped this, he could’ve stopped whatever the hell happened here.

“You don’t have to sit here with me, you know, you can go, like I said I can find my own way back.” You said softly, not bothering to look at him. You couldn’t bring yourself to.

“No, no I’m-I’m not abandoning you in Chicago.” Steve replied “Jesus, Y/N, what kind of person would I be if I just left you here?” it was a rhetorical question, but you thought long about an answer, and not just some snarky comeback, but an actual argument.

You couldn’t think of one. So, instead, you focused on the forms in hand, filling out your health information and signing on the dotted and solid lines. Steve watched you, taking in your little moments of thought and annoyance, the little huffs and the way you chewed on the end of the pen, tapping your fingers on the clipboard in a rapid, uneven pace.

“Y/N?” he asked quietly, his voice almost childlike, like a toddler about to ask his mother an innocent, wide eyed question, tiny hands gripping long skirts.

“What?” you replied, not looking up from the page, trying to remember if you were allergic to any medications, your mother always filling out these forms for you at your family doctor’s office.

“What happened?” he asked, intentionally vague. You both knew what he was asking and the question upset you. Maybe it was just because you were ashamed and embarrassed, but you felt deeply angered by the question.

“Are you trying to ask how I got pregnant? Come on Steve, you know how this shit works.” You replied, chuckling bitterly.

Steve rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning the slightly pink shade. “You know what I mean…” he

“I made a stupid mistake, Steve, it happens. Won’t let it happen again...” You told him, standing up to return the clipboard to bitchy Amy, who smacked her blue bubblegum at you, ushering in the heavily pregnant woman with the green hair and her spiky looking boyfriend.

“Where’s the guy who made the mistake?” Steve asked when you returned. You cocked your eyebrow, urging him to elaborate. “Unless you’re the Virgin Mary, there had to be a guy to help with this problem, where is he? Who is he?”

You smirked “No, no you guessed right. I’m carrying the next saviour and, unlike her, I want out.”

Steve shook his head “Y/N…” he pressed.

You sighed “Look the guy isn’t here because I didn’t tell him, which is for the best seeing as how it was a stupid one night stand and he wouldn’t give a shit about it.” You said, balling your hands into fists, focusing on the white plastic bin of condoms on the front desk, rainbow coloured and screaming ‘You’re sexually active and we want the world to know!’

“What a shit head…” Steve muttered.

You laughed “Yeah, you’d think that...” you brushed a loose strand of hair out of your eyes “You’d probably kill him anyway, or try.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know? I don’t try to fight everyone.” Steve looked you over, leaning his elbow on the arm of the stiff chair, turning his whole body towards you.

You looked him over. He looked far too relaxed to be in a sex clinic, it was both calming and infuriating. “Oh you would...you’re always looking for an excuse to fight with Hargrove...” you grinned, matching his body language, your faces only inches from one another.

Steve’s jaw dropped to the floor and he fell back in his chair, earning a loud laugh from you. He looked so offended, so surprised by the news, like he hadn’t heard every rumour about your indiscretions since freshman year. You stood your ground as Hawkins’s whore of Babylon, leading on the youth of Hawkins to sin as you had, although you didn’t see it as a sin to fool around.

“Oh come on, Stevie, you heard about Lizzie Bishop’s party. Everyone was at that one! I swear even you made a cameo.” You continued, nudging him with your elbow.

“You…you let Billy Hargrove knock you up?” he asked, watching you with wide eyes.

Your good mood dropped away immediately, replaced with annoyance and anger. “I wasn’t trying to get pregnant, Steve, I’ve been on the pill since I was twelve. It just happened. I’m not pretending that it wasn’t stupid.”

“I just…it’s Billy! The guy is a walking advertisement for plan B!” he cried, slapping his knee.

A heavy blush grew up your neck and over your cheeks “Look…you’re right. He’s awful!” you laughed awkwardly, dropping your head into your hands, more embarrassed than amused.

“He’s such a dick!” Steve laughed loudly, but stopped when he looked over at you. You’d finally broken, a small sob wracking through your body. He quickly wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your shoulders. “Y/N...Y/N I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-”

“He’s awful!” you moaned, lifting your head to reveal the tears streaming down your face, your eyes red and shining with tears. “And-and you know what? You wanna know the saddest part?” you stuttered, trying to catch your breath in between words “He’s not even good in bed.”

“What?” Steve asked, reaching over to wipe the tears off your face. The touch should’ve been intimate, it really was, but you were acting so strange; you seemed both deeply upset and a little humoured by the whole scenario.

“He’s a shit lay!” you cried. Steve snorted, he couldn’t help it. You looked so sad but the situation was so comical, he couldn’t hold back the laughter pooling in his stomach. His whole body curled inwards, shaking with suppressed giggles and snorts, his feet kicking in the air.

“I’m serious! He’s absolutely awful in bed!” you said seriously, a small smile coming to your lips, your face warm from the slight embarrassment on the conversation and the raw emotions still swirling around your head. “I don’t know how it’s possible I mean fuck! Brian Frey was better than him in bed and he was a damn virgin! I don’t think I’ve ever been further from an orgasm in my life!”

The whole scene was ridiculous-you and Steve looked like a pair of preteens, giggling over dirty words and sex jokes with an air of secrecy and innocence, hiding the dirty nature of the words like they’d be in trouble if anyone found out. In the context of the clinic, sterile waiting room, they look out of place and wrong, the other woman waiting quietly for her turn watching them with a look of shock and confusion, the joke lost on him.

You heard someone clear their throat and you looked up, wiping away tears with your knuckle. Amy was staring at you with an angry expression, she nodded to the doctor standing at the door, a kind looking woman with salt and pepper hair and pink scrubs. “Lydia Olsten?” she asked, looking up from the clipboard with a polite smile. It took you a second to remember your fake name, but when you caught it you nodded, standing up quickly, slinging your purse over your shoulder. Steve followed suit, wiping his palms on his jeans.

You looked to him quickly, shaking your head. You whispered “I gotta strip down in there, can you just wait out here?”

Steve nodded, deflating slightly “Right…” he murmured. You turned to follow the doctor, lost by the events of the day. It felt so normal for him to want to come in with you, like he was your boyfriend or your protector or something. Maybe it was normal. Either way, you were glad to have him waiting for you, to not be alone in the waiting room when it was done.

The procedure took longer than you expected, but the doctor was kind enough and the anaesthesia was heavy enough to not feel anything. After it was over, you were told to sit in the examination room for thirty minutes before leaving and to not drive yourself home. You assumed that Amy at the front desk parlayed this information to you, because he was allowed into the room soon after the thirty minutes had began.

“What’s up, kiddo? How’re you feeling?” Steve asked, sitting down on the edge of the examination table.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes “We’re the same age, weirdo...” you sighed “I’m fine, just tired, I think it’s from the anaesthetic.”

“Right...well, we can head out of here whenever you’re ready. I’ll just be in the waiting room, alright?” he said softly, taking your hand in his and squeezing it softly. You nodded, waving as he left the room again. You took your time getting up and getting dressed again. Your body felt strange and sore and you were dizzy from the painkillers in your system. It took you probably ten minutes to get out of the room, but Steve was still there when you got out of the room. It warmed your heart a little bit, even though you knew he’d still be there. It was nice to have someone still waiting for you. You were used to guys who didn’t stick around.

Steve helped you to the car, wrapping an arm protectively around your shoulders, ushering into the passenger seat and rushing out of the parking lot as the protestors continued their brigade of abuse towards the middling groups of girls entering the clinic.

The drive back to Hawkins was more comfortable than the way there. You didn’t feel the urge to keep quiet, it helped that you weren’t in the throes of deep anxiety and sadness. You felt more at ease with your surroundings and more comfortable talking and laughing with Steve, letting the open windows blast cool air through your hair and watching Steve laugh and grin with a certain sense of satisfaction, just because you were making him laugh and smile. It was nice, fun even. Steve was fun to be around, you’d forgotten that.

The drive was too short for your liking; you’d been having too much fun to notice the time pass by. Steve pulled into your cul-de-sac, parking in front of your house. His was just across the street, he could’ve parked in his own driveway, it would’ve been easier for him. Still, you didn’t complain, you popped open the door before Steve could pull the hero chivalry act again.

“Well...thanks for the help, Steve, I really owe you one.” You said with a small sigh, pulling the thick blue cardigan up onto your shoulder again.

“Don’t mention it.” Steve rubbed his arm awkwardly. You gave him a small wave and turned to head towards your house, but Steve grabbed your wrist and gently pulled you back “Wait!”

You turned, flashing him a bemused smile and raised eyebrow. “Listen...this is probably weird, but do you wanna maybe go out sometime?” he asked, looking down at his shoes.

Your smile dropped away and you looked towards the trees behind Steve’s house “I don’t know if I can really stomach dating right now...not after this whole thing...” you gestured towards your stomach quickly, uncomfortable with the saying the words too close to your parent’s house. They weren’t home yet, their car missing from the driveway, but you were still nervous.

Steve nodded, kicking at the pebbles near the curb. You squeezed your eyes shut “It’s not as if I wouldn’t, in any other context I’d say yes, but right now is...”

“Not the best time.” Steve finished, looking up to meet your eye again. He flashed you a lopsided grin “I get it. I’ll just wait for you.”

Your eyes widened slightly “Steve, you have to do that I mean I don’t know when I’m ever going to want to date again, I don’t want you to waste your time...” you said softly, wringing your hands.

Steve shook his head “I’m not worried.” He turned to climb back into his car, turning back to look at you with a smirk “I’m driving you to school tomorrow.”

“But-” you tried but Steve cut you off.

“This isn’t a debate; you’re not walking to school in the cold when I live literally across the street.” Steve chuckled, climbing into the driver’s seat.

You nodded, biting back a small smile “I’ll bring you another coffee then...” you said “See you around...” you turned on your heels heading inside.

You didn’t know what he was trying to do, but you weren’t mad about it.

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