#n tbh my tiny ass single bed isn’t the best sleep | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ughkeery · 6 years

Text

two strangers learn to fall in love again | steve harrington

request: hey! i was wondering if i could request a college AU where you meet steve and become super close? bonus points if the reader is like half asleep and bumps into him the first time they see each other! the rest is up to however you wanna make it :)

word count: 3.6k

warning(s): none tbh

a/n: this was extremely fun to write so thank you to whoever requested this??? there’s not much else i can say since i don’t wanna spoil anything so... hope y’all enjoy!

You’re not sure what’s worse about the guy living underneath you: his horrible taste in music, or the fact that he plays it loud enough for the entire building to hear.

“Does the guy in Room 202 listen to anything other than Journey lately?” You ask, half-venting and half-expecting an actual response from your roommate, Lisa. The two of you are on your respective twin beds, pretending to study for finals until midnight strikes because that’s when the two of you vowed you’d call it a night and go to bed.

“Who?” Lisa mutters, although her eyes are still glued to the textbook in her lap.

“Room 202.” The term rolls off your tongue with such disdain that Lisa looks up at you in surprise.

You’ve never actually met him, but you’ve passed by his dorm here and there on your way to a few parties. Each time he was blaring the exact same contrived, top-forty-hits type garbage that you’ve recently come to know more and love less.

You didn’t mind it so much at the beginning of the year - back when Room 202 only rocked out on the weekends and you weren’t in the dorms very much to begin with. But now that it’s been happening nearly every night for the past month, he’s on your very last nerve.

“How do you know it’s not a girl?” Lisa wonders, amused by your exasperation.

“Because, what kind of self-respecting woman would hang Van Halen posters on the outside of her door?”

“Yeah, thank God he moved on from his hard rock phase.” Lisa closes her textbook and tosses it aside. It’s only 10:30, but you’re too distracted and angered by the sound of Steve Perry’s voice to call her out on it.

You fall into your pillow with an overly dramatic sigh, watching your breath ruffle the pages of your Biology notebook resting on the bed beside you.

“My mother was right. I should’ve never signed up to live in a co-ed dorm.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Have you talked to the RA about it?”

“Four times,” you mutter.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I just figure that if it pisses you off so much, you would have no problem knocking on his door and telling him to keep it down.”

Your fingers, which have been absently flipping through the pages of your Biology notes, come to a stop as you ponder over Lisa’s suggestion. She knows how much you dislike confrontation, but you would be doing the entire dorm a service by being the one to finally make Room 202 shut up once and for all. Perhaps it would be worth it.

“Winter break is in a week,” You say, justifying your nervousness more to yourself than Lisa. “What’s the point?”

“Winter break is only a month long. Once we come back in January, you’ll be back at square one.”

“True. And who knows what kind of shitty music will come out by then?”

You sigh, slouching further into your bed as Room 202 makes the audible switch from Journey to Phil Collins. Better, but not great, you think.

“Still, I don’t think it’s the best idea,” you continue. “No reason to make any enemies around here, even if it’s with the jerk in Room 202.”

“Whatever. He can get away with it if he wants to,” Lisa says with another shrug. “I hear he’s pretty hot.”

You press your lips together, not from lack of agreement, but because you know that if you get too wrapped up in this conversation you’ll spend even less time studying for your Biology final than you already have. Although you’ve never met the guy, Lisa likes to insist that his rumored good looks make up for his terrible music taste.

You think it’ll take a little more than that. You want to get an actual apology out of him, you decide.

“Fine,” you say after a few moments of silence between the two of you. “I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

As it turns out, morning rolls around more quickly than you initially expected. By the time you’ve reached the peak hours of moonlight, you’re so elbow-deep in stacks of graded quizzes and highlighted notes that you fail to realize just how late it is - that is, until Lisa rolls over in bed with a sour look on her face.

“Go to sleep, Y/N,” she whines, squinting at the yellow light illuminating from the tiny lamp on your desk. “It’s two in the morning.”

“You realize that if I don’t get at least a B on my Biology exam, I’ll fail the course, right?”

“You realize that if you keep me up all night, I’ll kill you, right?”

You roll your eyes, knowing that if you weren’t so overworked and tired you would probably laugh at Lisa’s comeback. Despite how long you’ve spent repeatedly going over the material for your final, there are still some things you’re still completely clueless about. You can’t afford to stop - especially not when your exam is only in six hours.

Leaning back in your chair, you cast a sideways glance at the laundry basket next to your bed, which is currently filled way too far over the edge with socks and sweaters that are threatening to tumble out. With all the studying you’ve been doing this week, getting your laundry done hasn’t even crossed your mind.

Other than the kitchen - which is all the way downstairs - the laundry room would be a nice change of scenery for you to study. It would also ensure that you actually have a clean outfit to wear tomorrow.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” you announce, pushing your chair out from your desk, “and hopefully I’ll have all the organelles of the cell memorized by then.”

You can’t hear Lisa’s response muffled into her pillow, but judging by her tone, she’s on the brink of sleep and probably doesn’t even care. You quietly sort out the sweaters you get the most wear out of to wash, grab your Biology supplies, and exit your dorm.

Perhaps it’s the wave of pure exhaustion hitting you, but as you wander down the dimly-lit hallway towards the laundry room, you can’t help but think that you’re in an entirely different place. The dorms - quiet and nearly pitch-black - are almost like a different reality at night. The only other times you’ve been outside your own dorm room this late have been on your way back from parties across campus, full of alcohol and subdued laughter caused by your group of friends.

Get it together, Y/N, you inwardly tell yourself, rounding the corner at the end of the hallway.

Although, you don’t get very far beyond that. Just around the corner is someone else walking in the opposite direction. The minute you two run into each other, you lose your balance and fall flat on your ass.

“Ouch,” you exclaim, unwilling to speak above a whisper so that you don’t awaken any of the sleeping co-eds in the rooms on either side of you. If you were feeling up to it, you would not only speak at full volume, but you would probably also smack the guy that you’ve just run into because damn, that really hurt.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” the guy asks.

“Yeah, I’m -”

Okay, you finish in your head, although for some reason the word fails to leave your lips as you look up at the boy. You don’t use this word lightly, but he is, without a doubt, the most attractive person you’ve ever met. He’s clearly in his pajamas - sweatpants and a t-shirt displaying your school’s mascot - but that only makes him all the more dreamy. You can’t help but feel insecure in your own exhaustive state as he looks right at you, eyes bright and smile contagious.

The cute stranger gives you a smirk that is somehow polite and incredibly endearing. Still bent down in front of you, he holds his hand out, inches from your own. “C’mere, let me help you up.”

Meekly, you slip your hand into his and let him pull you up, rising to your feet with a sigh of relief. Somehow, you managed to keep a steady grip on your Biology supplies and bag of laundry throughout your fall. You clutch them even closer, a defense mechanism under this guy’s impeccably charming gaze.

“I’m Steve Harrington,” he introduces, “and I promise that knocking over pretty girls at two in the morning isn’t one of my main hobbies.”

You tell him your name, and he repeats it back to you amiably, rolling it around in his mouth like it’s familiar to him. The sound of your name being recited from his lips makes you blush like a little girl on the playground interacting with her crush. Thankfully, it’s too dark in the hallway for Steve to notice the hint of pink in your cheeks.

“So, Y/N,” he says, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “What’s a girl like you doing out of your room so late? They have rules around here, you know.”

You grin. Why did I have to meet this guy when I look like an actual zombie?

“My roommate threatened to murder me in cold blood if I didn’t take my studying elsewhere,” you reply, gesturing to the Biology textbook cradled in one of your arms. “How about you?”

“My buddy Scott lives on this floor. He was letting me borrow his Algebra notes,” he explains.

“Ah,” you say coolly, pressing your lips together. “So… what are your main hobbies, Steve Harrington?”

He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. You watch him do so, afraid that he will mess up his perfectly-styled ‘do, but his hair somehow retreats back to its original state afterwards. If it were socially acceptable, you would probably ask him what kind of hairspray he uses.

“Well, right now, failing school seems to be something I’m good at - although, it’s not a hobby I particularly enjoy.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Hence why I needed to borrow Scott’s notes.”

“Scott Miller?” you clarify. Steve nods. “Yeah, he’s in my English lecture. I think he’s the only person in there who’s read every single book. He’s really smart.”

“Scary smart,” Steve agrees, another smile grazing the corners of his lips. “You seem pretty smart yourself.”

“I do?” You blink, unable to keep your eyes from widening.

“Yeah, I mean - a girl willing to sacrifice a good night’s sleep for the sake of school? That takes some willpower. You must be some kind of badass.”

If it were possible, you would blush even harder. You mimic Steve’s stance, leaning against the wall, unable to tear your eyes away from his friendly gaze.

“Not really,” you respond sheepishly. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I weren’t so afraid of how my parents would react if I were to fail Biology.”

“But you won’t fail,” he insists, taking a step closer to you. “Lots of other people would, but Y/N Y/L/N? She’s not a quitter.”

Steve smirks again, and under the hazy light attached to the high ceiling above you, you’re able to make out the dark freckles adorning his face. You aren’t sure why he’s being so nice to you, or why on earth he has to be so damn cute, but you definitely know one thing for sure: you don’t want this conversation to end.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, unsure of how to respond to Steve in a way that doesn’t make how much you’re taken by his words so obvious.

“Anyways,” Steve says after a few moments of silence, although to you it felt like hours of staring into each other’s eyes. Your heart sinks as he continues.

“I, uh, won’t keep you. Looks like you have a big night ahead of you.” He eyes the items in your hands, smiling softly. “Laundry, Y/N? Really?”

“What can I say? I like to multitask.” You laugh softly.

Steve sets his hand on your arm, big enough for his fingers to wrap around it. But he doesn’t do that - he just gives it a small squeeze, which makes your heart want to burst.

“See you around?” he asks quietly, letting go of your arm as effortlessly as he had held onto it seconds ago.

You swallow the nerves in your throat, nodding, wanting to ask him to buy you an ice cream or take you to a party or just keep talking so you can hear his voice, impossibly comforting for someone you barely know. But for some reason, you can’t muster up the courage to do any of those things until Steve has disappeared down the other end of the hallway.

Your laundry doesn’t get done, and neither does your studying. As calming as Steve Harrington’s words were, the minute you came to terms with the fact that you were alone once again in the dark, dreary hallway, you grew more tired than ever. Passing Biology was important, but in order to do that, you needed a decent amount of sleep for your exam.

However, stuck in a haze over your conversation with Steve, you realize not long after you come back to your dorm that you’ll be unable to focus on anything else - including sleep. In fact, you’ve just managed to force your eyes close and drift off before your alarm clock goes off at seven, signaling the fact that you only have one hour until your exam is set to begin.

“Ugh!” you exclaim, pushing your head underneath your pillow.

Lisa, who has clearly experienced the pleasure of a full-night’s sleep, leans over and turns off the alarm. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she greets, hopping out of bed. “Have fun doing all that laundry last night?”

“Five more minutes,” you whine to nobody in particular, squeezing your eyes shut even tighter. You hear Lisa exit the room - presumably to take a shower - and you can feel yourself drift off again. However, that lasts all of ten seconds when another noise - one that is even more annoying than the sound of your alarm clock - fills your ears.

Van Halen.

Room 202.

“Son of a bitch,” you say with a groan, rubbing your hands over your face until you’ve forced yourself awake. It’s probably the lack of sleep, but Room 202 seems to be playing his music more loudly than he ever has before. The sound of an obnoxiously high-pitched guitar solo echoing throughout your room makes you want to cry, scream, or both.

Instead, you angrily kick the pile of blankets off your freezing legs, change into the only clean clothes you have left, and march downstairs. You probably look like an absolute wreck right now, but if you don’t get as much sleep as you can by the time you need to show up for your exam, who knows what else will happen to your already deteriorating mental health.

You manage to follow the sound all the way to Room 202’s front door. Without hesitation, you begin pounding on the door, eagerly hoping to put a stop to all of this once and for all.

“Hey!” you scream.

But Room 202 doesn’t seem to hear you. The sound of a screeching guitar continues, as unpleasant as ever. You bang your fist even harder, aiming right for Eddie Van Halen’s face on the poster attached to the door.

“Hey!” you scream even louder. “Open up!”

The volume on the song decreases, but not by much. You can see footsteps moving underneath the crack in the door.

“Give me a sec!”

You sigh, placing your hands on your hips impatiently. The song is eventually cut off, and the door swings open just enough for Room 202 to fit through.

But when the guy opens the door, it’s not the rugged, mullet-sporting douchebag you pictured living in Room 202 all this time.

It’s none other than Steve Harrington.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he greets, blinking the sleep and confusion from his eyes.

“Um,” you squeak, unable to form any words through your bewilderment.

“As pleasantly surprised - and somewhat creeped out - as I am that you found out where I live, can I ask what the hell you’re doing here so early?”

Steve seems unphased by your astonishment, or maybe he’s just as tired as you are and doesn’t notice. Still, it has to be fairly obvious that you’re freaking out right now.

“Um,” you say again, trying to look over Steve’s shoulder. “I was… looking for your roommate?”

Maybe the other guy that lives here is the one that plays such awful music each night, you try to reason with yourself. However, that theory is quickly shot down.

“Well, you’re not gonna have any luck.” He chuckles and steps aside, revealing just one bed next to a desk even more cluttered than yours. The layout of his dorm is identical to yours, except that where the other twin bed would be is a fully decked-out turntable with what looks like dozens of records haphazardly thrown on the shelf underneath. Laying face-up on the bed is a worn copy of Van Halen’s latest album.

This can’t be happening. You haven’t had any sleep. You’re delirious. This isn’t real.

There’s no way the Steve Harrington you met last night is the same person you’ve been badmouthing since the beginning of the year.

“I live in a single dorm,” he explains, watching your eyes glaze over his room with an amused smile. “Y/N, if you wanted to come see me, you don’t have to act all coy about it.”

“That’s… not why I’m here.” Steve’s face falls slightly. You realize that you’re standing an awkward distance away from him, but for some reason you can’t will your legs to move even an inch. “I, um…”

You look up at him finally, making eye contact for the first time since the two of you met less than five hours ago. You can tell he’s confused - brows and lips pushed together in an endearing pout - and you can’t really blame him. He probably thinks you’re some kind of stalker; that you followed him back to his room earlier this morning just so you could come over a few hours later.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he says, putting your racing mind to a halt. He cracks the door open a little more, glancing over his shoulder. “Like I said, I’m happy to see you and all, but I need to get ready for -”

“What are you doing tonight?” you blurt out, surprising yourself more than him.

Steve rubs the back of his neck, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Uh… nothing, I think. Why?”

“We should go record shopping.” You glance at the stack of records in his room again. The majority of them are names you wish you didn’t recognize. “There’s this place right off campus that my friend Holly works at. They have great music. We should go. Do you wanna go?”

Steve laughs. “Well, you see,” he starts, following your gaze over to his pile of records, “I would love to hangout, but I already have lots of music. Maybe we can do something -”

“More,” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips. “You need more.”

Steve chuckles at your assertiveness, although if he knew why you were asking him to hangout in this way, he probably wouldn’t find it too amusing. “Well... alright then. Record shopping with Y/N. Sounds like a blast. Wanna meet me back here at six?”

“Better make it eight.” Steve looks at you questioningly. “I have lots of sleep to catch up on.”

“Holy shit, Y/N. Holy shit.”

Later, when it’s nearly midnight and the two of you have just gotten back from sharing a milkshake at the local diner, you’re laying barefoot on Steve Harrington’s bed. He lays right beside you, shoulder pressed against yours, staring up at the ceiling in wide-eyed bewilderment.

The album you’re playing right now was one of the many albums you insisted that he purchase, much to his chagrin. However, now that you’re an hour deep into listening, you can tell that Steve has changed his mind.

“I always skip Bowie when he comes on the radio, but this? I didn’t know he made stuff like this.”

He inches his head onto the edge of his pillow - the one you claimed the minute you came in. You tilt your head towards him, laughing at his expression.

“Told you,” you say. “He’s incredible.”

The two of you fall back into your usual silence, listening to the sound of David Bowie’s soothing voice idle on Steve’s turntable. After flying through your Biology exam and taking a much-needed nap, you had awoken incredulous to the idea that you had somehow asked somebody like Steve Harrington on a date earlier that day.

That is, if angrily pounding on somebody’s door and close-to demanding them to buy music with you counts as a date.

“This is fun,” Steve says, clasping his hands together and resting them on his stomach.

You smile in surprise. “It is?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve never done this sort of thing with a girl.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, propping your head against your hand.

“Like… We’ve been laying here for almost an hour now, and the two of us have barely said anything. But it’s like we don’t have to because I feel like I already know so much about you, you know?”

You do. The minute you met Steve, his attractiveness and charm immediately stood out to you. But now that you’ve spent hours with the boy, cracking jokes in a record shop and playfully arguing over which milkshake flavor is the best, you feel like you know him better than anyone you’ve met since the beginning of the year.

“Yeah,” you whisper, toying with a loose thread on Steve’s comforter.

“How come we’ve never run into each other before?”

You shrug, unsure if his question is rhetorical or not. “I don’t know. I wish we had.”

Steve rolls onto his side, dark brown eyes burning holes into yours the same way they typically do. “Me too,” he says quietly.

Slowly but surely, Steve slips his hand into yours. You don’t say anything, just lean your head into the warmth of his shoulder as you wrap your fingers around his, wishing that you had confronted the obnoxious guy from Room 202 a long time ago.

#stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x reader #joe keery #joe keery imagine #joe keery x reader #steve harrington x you #joe keery x you

491 notes · View notes