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Chapter Text

Nobody calls Stephanie Harrington “Stephanie”, or even “Steph.” There are five other Stephanies in her grade, and there are only so many nicknames that name can derive. Instead, she goes by Stevie, because when she was a kid, her best friend Tommy’s older brother used to tease and call her Steve or Stephan. The third Hagan kid also had a boyish nickname, Charlie for Charlotte, so it was the kind of teasing she didn’t mind.

Of course, that was before her boobs came in and Roger Hagan went from teasing to flirting, despite the three-year age difference.

So, the summer before eighth grade, to throw it right back into Roger’s face, she corrects him when he uses her full name to flirt with her, wrinkling her nose and turning him down. It catches on fast, and by the time summer rolls back around, Stevie’s known all over town for her boyish nickname and her decidedly not-boyish figure.

Along with her name, she trades in soccer for cheer, gymnastics for swim, and softball for track. It’s easier to keep trim that way, lose any bulk from soccer and softball; her thighs and shoulders are big enough as it is.

Things with Tommy get a little weird around the start of freshman year, so Stevie’s thankful when she meets Carol during cheer try-outs. One of the girls is over-enthusiastic when practicing the little routine the older girls showed them, her high kick sending her toppling into the grass. Stevie immediately locks eyes with Carol, identical snickers slipping past their lips.

Carol’s cattier than her, meaner, but Stevie’s prettier so more often than not, Carol falls in line easily, even more so when she gets introduced to Tommy. Still, she has her little moments of sweetness, though most people don’t really see them. Tommy takes to her like a kitten to milk and that weirdness between him and Stevie eases.

It’s easy to get people to like her; she’s pretty and brave, outgoing and always ready to talk to anyone. The older boys shoot her looks and smirks and she sends them right back, holding their gaze and tossing her hair back. So, they invite her to parties, and she invites Tommy and Carol, and soon enough, there are plenty of people that fall into line, eager for an elusive invite from the upperclassmen.

The parties are easy enough, and sometimes she has fun. Drinking is okay, but dancing’s great. Party games make her nervous, like spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. Carol—and everyone else—tells her those don’t really count, that it’s just for fun. So, she dives in headfirst, kissing whoever fate decides on her turns.

The boys are fine, she supposes. Some of them are cute, and she gets that fluttery feeling in her stomach with them. The girls, though, are different. The first time she kisses a girl, it’s Carol. They’re at an after party, some game that Stevie hadn’t been paying attention to, despite cheering for it. They’re still in their uniforms, short skirts and tight tops. Someone snags an empty beer bottle and herds as many people as possible into a circle.

It's fun at first, giggling along when other people take their turns, but Stevie always gets nervous when it’s her turn. She spins, praying for someone not too drunk, not too sloppy, when the bottle lands on Carol, who goes bright red and starts sputtering protests.

The older kids hoot and holler, egging them on, so Stevie plunges ahead, just to get them to shut up. She kisses Carol carefully and quickly, a chaste peck on her glossy pink lips. The circle around them goes wild.

After, Carol tells her again for the millionth time that it doesn’t count if it’s girls or during a game. She’s red-faced and uncharacteristically shy.

“I know,” Stevie assures her, then to lighten to mood, she teases. “What, you like me or something?”

“You wish!” Carol giggles, the tension broken.

“Everybody likes me,” Stevie tells her, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You just have bad taste.”

Things go back to normal with Carol after that, thankfully, though she does kiss her once more during freshman year, at another party. She kisses plenty of people, girls and guys, but she doesn’t stop to think about it, the difference, or the softness, the sweet smell of perfume. Doesn’t let herself think about it, at all. It’s just one of the many things she’s good at.

She good at her sports too—don’t tell Stevie that cheerleading isn’t a fucking sport, because it is, and fuck anyone else who says otherwise. She’s got the highest kick on the squad and she’s the most reliable base, never dropping any of the flyers. She’s a fucking torpedo in the water, looking damn good in even the lame school issued one-piece, and on the track, in her tiny shorts and whipping ponytail.

The only thing that sucks about high school is the actual school part. She’s never been very good at it, but it’s getting harder and harder to bullshit her way through it. She doesn’t read as fast as everyone else—not that she’s ever told anyone that—and she’s total shit when it comes to math.

History sucks too, boring with too many people to keep track of. Science is okay sometimes, she likes the unit in bio where they talk about the brain, but she doesn’t actually care about it.

She took French because it sounded cool, but god, does she hate that too. Her reading pace slows to an absolute snail’s crawl in that class.

She likes her home ec classes, though, especially the cooking parts. She’s already got a head; she makes her own dinner a couple nights a week when her parents are out.

Whatever, it’s not like it all actually matters. She’ll graduate, meet a rich, smart boy with a good job and get married. Stevie’s education is the last thing on her mind.

-

Stevie gets good at boys because she’s supposed to, because her mother looks at her when all her book club friends are over and they all giggle about how grown-up Stevie looks, about how she must be beating the boys back with a stick.

Girls at school do that too, come to her needing advice on the boys they like, look at her with pleading eyes like “not this one, leave this one for me.” Her own father does it too, asking if she’s going to meet a boy every time she leaves the house, even if she’s in ratty play clothes. So, she learns.

Boys are easy: easy to fluster, or flirt with, to cajole favors out of. She learns on Tommy and Roger, noting the differences, the various tactics she has to take, then takes her skills for a spin.

She dates three boys freshman year, each just for a couple months. She learns to kiss and tease, to dodge hands and play coy. Eventually, she does go out with Roger, loses her virginity to him in March, after they win the championship game. He’s surprisingly careful with her, and even though it sort of hurts, it feels nice too, especially the after part where she lies on his chest, taking in his body heat, the closeness.

They date—much to Tommy’s displeasure—all summer, until Roger leaves for college in Muncie. He promises to call. He doesn’t. She doesn’t ask Tommy about it either.

Sophomore year goes better. She hosts parties while her parents are out, leads boys back to her bedroom to fool around, to soak in that after-experience. She knows how to walk the edge of aloof and affectionate, can coax them to stay for a while, but never long enough to make them think she’d fallen for them.

Stevie dates six high school boys, all juniors and seniors, and one college boy, from Indy. He drives the hour and a half back and forth for her every other weekend, and she feels like maybe this could be something.

Of course, it crashes and burns the second she mentions him meeting her parents, so she learns to keep her parents out of her dating life entirely, no matter how serious.

This year, things change when she meets Nathan Wheeler. He’s a sophomore in her junior chemistry class, tall and quiet with a sweet face and neat brown hair.

She doesn’t notice him at first, not really, but then they get assigned lab partners. She assumes he’ll dismiss her in the way that all smart boys do, deciding she’s not good for anything but her face, her body, and a chance to flirt. Nathan’s different, talks to her like she’s got a brain, like he honestly cares about what she thinks.

She falls for him before they’ve even kissed, before he’s even asked her out. 

Eventually, he does of course, but it takes him weeks. Still, she forgives his hesitance; who wouldn’t be, especially with a girl like her?

She’s over at his place today, stretched out invitingly on his bed while he sits at his desk, chair turned to face her and textbook balanced on his knees.

“Okay, you know this one,” he says. “What’s an IMF?”

Stevie groans playfully, dropping her head into the cradle of her arms and peeking up at him from her lashes. Nathan chuckles, leaning in with that sweet smile on his face, brown eyes sparkling. Stevie hadn’t even known boy eyes could sparkle like that.

“Come on, I know you know it,” he coaxes.

“What do I get if I get it right?” she flirts, twisting to lay on her side, to give him the full view of the way her waist curves and her hips swell. Nathan sweeps his eyes over her quickly, then snaps back to her face, a little pink around the ears.

“Well, what do you want?”

“I get to pick?”

“A good tutor has to figure out what incentivizes his students the best,” he says, putting on a professorial air. She laughs, twists up to sit cross-legged, letting her hair sweep over her shoulders.

“If I get it right…” she drawls. “You give me a kiss.”

“Okay,” Nathan says slowly, his smile slipping into a smirk. It’s sexy, gives him an unexpected edge on that nice boy face. “So, what’s an IMF?”

Nathan kisses like he does everything, methodical and focused, and oh so thorough. He cups her jaw, follows her lead when she pulls him back over her, knows to slot his thigh between hers—god where did he learn that?

They kiss until someone bangs on his door, his dorky little brother with the ever-present scowl. Little baby Holly follows behind, cute blonde pigtails and big blue eyes, like Mrs. Wheeler.

“You’re supposed to be babysitting, and Holly wants a snack,” Mike says, steadfastly ignoring Stevie, even after she calls out a cheery little “hi!” Baby Holly smiles at her though, around the thumb in her mouth, flaps her other hand in a wave.

Nathan sighs, scoops Holly up with ease, props her up on his forearm.

“You hungry, Stevie?” he asks, turning back to her. “I could get everyone a snack.”

“Sure,” she says, suddenly shy. He looks so good, his baby sister in his arms, balanced so expertly. She follows the Wheeler boys to the kitchen, sitting opposite Mike while Nathan slices apples and doles out little spoonsful of peanut butter in quarter plates.

“What were you guys doing up there?” Mike demands, narrowing his eyes. “I didn’t promise Mom I’d watch Holly.”

“I am watching Holly. She was down for a nap before you woke her up,” Nathan says pointedly. She’s sitting on the counter, swinging her little legs and watching her brothers, head whipping back and forth as they talk. “And we were just studying.”

“What, human anatomy?” Mike sneers. He still hasn’t looked at her, not really. Stevie blushes in spite of herself.

“Shut up, Mike,” Nathan snaps, ears going pink. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing homework? What the hell were you listening at the door for?”

Mike sputters and argues, turning bright red. He slouches deep into his seat, shooting Stevie a glare. Nathan sneers right back at his brother, setting Holly in her chair and placing her snack in front of her, as well as Stevie’s. He leaves Mike’s on the counter, ignoring him to help Holly when Mike protests.

Stevie presses her lips together to keep from laughing. Even if she is a little embarrassed, Nathan’s so cute with his siblings, teasing and taking care of them.

“Sorry, it’s not you, it’s this thing with his friend. He had to talk to the police today, and now he’s worried, which means acting like a complete dick,” Nathan whispers to her after he puts Holly in her playpen with some books and toys, then leads Stevie back to his room.

“That sucks,” Stevie says, but Nathan shrugs.

“It’s Hawkins, which Mike forgets sometimes. He thinks he’s in a fantasy world half the time. He’s just going through this dumb asshole phase. Believe it or not, he used to be a nice kid.”

“He looks like you,” Stevie offers. “Cute.”

Nathan laughs, self-consciously ruffling his hair.

“Sure, if my mouth was too big for my face,” he says in a stage whisper as they pass Mike’s room by the stairs.

“And Holly’s adorable,” Stevie says, after a giggle. “You’re really good with her.”

“Helps that she’s still in her sweet stage,” Nathan says, slipping her hand into his. “Once she hits ten? All bets are off.”

When Stevie goes home that night, head still reeling from the expert way Nathan made out with her, all she can think about is him with the baby in his arms. Then her thoughts shift to what it would’ve been like when Holly was first born, what Nathan would’ve been like with her.

The flush hasn’t left her face when she walks through the front door, something her mother quickly notices.

“Where were you?” she asks when Stevie makes her way into the kitchen. She’s sitting at the bar, martini in one hand, magazine in the other.

“Studying with a friend,” Stevie says breezily, dodging her mother and trying to make for the fridge.

“Steph, I wish you wouldn’t,” Eliza says, shaking her head. She looks sleek and polished in her blazer and skirt, a sure sign she’s been at the country club and gossiping with all the other Loch Nora moms. “You’re looking… well, I want you to try that new dress I bought you, I need to see if I have to have it taken out.”

Stevie blushes, flush going embarrassed now. She lets the fridge door swing shut, the happy, fizzy feeling in her stomach evaporating. She thinks about Nathan’s hands on her hips, her sides, kneading into the flesh there. She thinks about taking her clothes off for him.

“I’ll go for a run,” she says. “After dinner.”

“Fine,” Eliza concedes, setting her magazine aside. “We’ll just do some steamed veggies then.”

“Yeah, mom,” Stevie intones. “No dad tonight?”

Her thoughts stray back to Nathan, the steady, heated way he looked at her, like she was the only girl in the world. She wonders if her dad ever looked at her mom like that, or if his gaze has always strayed. She scoffs anyways, feeling a little vindictive; Nathan’s gaze would never stray, she would be a better girlfriend than her cold mother could ever be.

“He’s in Chicago,” she says, pulling a tray of precut veggies out of the fridge. “Which reminds me, you’re on your own this week, I have to head up there as well.”

“For what?”

“Helping your father,” she says, getting the steamer basket and a pot of water ready. “We’ll be back on Thursday.”

Stevie resists the urge to scoff; she knows what her dad needs help with, and it’s got nothing to do with commercial real estate.

Chapter Text

In homeroom, Stevie barely pays attention to the announcements, instead thinking about how she has the house free for the next couple days. Carol files her nails on the next desk, smacks her gum.

“What are you doing tonight?” she whispers. Carol shrugs, tossing her auburn waves over her shoulder.

“I don’t know, nothing yet,” she whispers back. “Why, are we doing something?”

“My parents are gone,” Stevie tells her. “I was thinking us, Tommy, and Nathan at my place? We could turn the heaters on in the pool.”

“Sexy,” Carol smirks. “I can’t believe you’re going to fuck that nerd.”

“He’s not a nerd,” Stevie argues back.

“If her was a girl, he wouldn’t dare wear a skirt any higher than his knees,” Carol snarks, gesturing to her own hemline, which settles firmly on her upper thigh. Stevie smothers a giggle but defends her boy.

“Whatever, all I know is that he’s taking my skirt off me,” Stevie says. Carol snickers, tapping her ankle against Stevie’s.

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

After they’re released, Stevie hurries into the hall, searching for Nathan. She bounds up to him, perching her chin on her shoulder when she gets close enough.

“Miss me?” she asks. Nathan smiles at her, presses a too-quick, too-chaste kiss to her cheek.

“I saw you last night,” he says.

“Wanna see me again tonight? My dad’s on some work trip and my mom went with because she totally doesn’t trust him, which, fair, but that means I get the house to myself ‘til Thursday!”

Stevie can see the hesitance on his face, the desire warring with whatever responsibility he’s got going on.

“I promised Barb I would hang out with her tonight, we’re working on articles to join the school paper,” Nathan tells her, all sweet reluctance and regret. Barbara Holland is Nathan’s best friend, the girl who follows him around like a lovesick puppy that everyone can see except him. If Stevie was being generous, she’d describe her as “unfortunate.”

“So, bring her,” Stevie forces herself to say. Nathan’s not the type to drop his friends, even if it offends his girlfriend. He’s too loyal for that. “I’ll invite Robby Greene, he loves redheads! You can always do the paper thing another night.”

“I guess,” Nathan says, frowning. Stevie presses herself close, pulling his hands to rest on her waist. “I’ll ask her, see what she thinks.”

“She’ll have fun, I promise,” Stevie tells him. “We’ll have fun too.”

“I always have fun with you,” Nathan says, thumb rubbing back and forth. She loves it, his warm hands on her side, the fluttery feeling of his thumb, the sweetness of his gaze. She wants to kiss him right here and now, but she doesn’t. She knows he’s not a big fan of PDA anyways.

“So, I’ll see you tonight!” she chirps. She knows she has him by the bashful tilt of his head, the fond exasperation.

“Stevie,” he groans, but she bounds away, heading to class.

“Eight o’clock! My place!”

Stevie gets to see him again at lunch, she and her friends meet him by the doors. She and Carol have their heads close, discussing outfits for tonight, arguing about whether they should wear bathing suits or not. Carol looks up, immediately screwing her face up in disgust.

“Oh, god, look,” she whispers, pointing over to where Jonathan Byers is hanging something up on the bulletin board. He’s in Nathan’s grade, well known for his grimy appearance and lack of friends. It takes her a moment to read the poster, to take in the words.

“God, that’s depressing,” she mutters. She heard something about that, this morning, she thinks. Some assembly for the kid lost in the woods and sign-up sheets to join the search parties. Like Nathan had said, it’s Hawkins, the town is too small to get lost in. They’ll find the kid eventually.

“Should we say something?” Nathan asks, jerking his chin in Jonathan’s direction. “His brother is friends with mine, the friend I was telling you about.”

“He’s the one who probably did it,” Tommy jokes, slinging an arm around Carol’s shoulders. “Guy’s a creep.”

“Shut up, Tommy, that’s gross,” Stevie mutters. She shakes her head, as if to dispel the thought, links her arm with Nathan’s. “So? Party? Yes?”

“I can probably swing it,” he says, finally turning his attention to her. Stevie glows in the spotlight of his attention, can’t help the smile that blooms on her face.

“Probably, huh? Should I ask someone else? In case you can’t make it?” she teases.

“Most likely,” Nathan amends and Stevie rocks up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. But then, Nathan frowns, turning to look back at Byers. “You know what, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

For a moment, Stevie doesn’t react, but then she plasters on a smile, ready to tell Nathan what a sweetheart he is, but he’s gone before she can open her mouth.

“Come on,” Carol calls to her. Stevie watches Nathan for a moment, the awkward way he talks to Byers, his hand on the back of his head, but then goes back to Carol, hurrying to catch up.

-

She and Carol decide against suits. It’s too cold anyways, the early November chill puts a stop to any seduction plans. While it’ll be nice in the pool, she can’t put herself on display in the chairs, where she knows she looks the best.

Stevie settles on a cute pink sweater and her favorite jean skirt, does her makeup carefully, pale pink blush, lip gloss, heavy coats of mascara, and a touch of electric turquoise on her eyelids, to make her eyes pop.

She put her hair back in rollers the second she got back from school, only now letting it down. She fluffs and teases it back up, locking it in place with her trusty Farrah Fawcett spray. The final touches are a few spritz of Opium on her wrist, her neck, and after a second to think about it, on her thighs too.

It’s perfect. She’s perfect.

Nathan shows up right on time, with a sullen Barb right behind him, looking dowdy in her ill-fitting jeans and ugly blouse. It’s the wrong color, washes her out completely.

Still, Stevie’s a good host, guides them to the pool where she’s got beer, snacks, and her friends waiting for them. Tommy carted his boombox over, so he and Carol sit together on one of the deck chairs, parsing through her tape collection.

Robby takes one look at Barb and scowls, shooting Stevie a sour look. She ignores him breezily, introducing Barb anyways.

The thing is, she’s not ugly, she actually has a lot of potential. If she wore colors that suited her, or clothes that actually fit, she’d look good. Good enough for even Nathan to notice her.

Still, it’s fun, music playing and drinks flowing. She teaches Nathan how to shotgun beers, glowing under his praise and the flirtatious teasing that comes with him being a quick study.

“Seriously, Barb, you don’t have to—” Nathan protests when Tommy tosses her a can and his keys.

“She’s a big girl, she can handle herself,” Tommy says with a smirk, earning a snicker from Rob. Stevie shoots him a nasty look, and he instantly quiets.

“You got it, Barb,” Stevie says. She’s sitting in Nathan’s lap, his arm warm and secure against her waist. Barb nods, turning the can over in her hands a few times before she tries. Her finger slips, cuts against the jagged edge of the beer can, blood pooling instantly.

“Barb!” Nathan’s up and moving towards her, but Barb jerks back, clutching her hand close to her chest. Stevie wobbles for a moment when she’s dislodged but she recovers quickly.

“I’m fine,” she says. “I just need… I just need to clean up.”

“There’s a first aid kit in the guest bathroom,” Stevie says. “I can take you—”

“I can find it,” Barb says, her cheeks a blotchy red now.

“It’s just off the kitchen, to the left,” Stevie tells her anyways. Things get a little awkward as Barb leaves, but Tommy breaks the tensions, gathering Carol up and throwing her headlong into the pool. Everyone cracks up as she surfaces, hissing like a cat.

Tommy dives in after her, then Rob, then Stevie quirks an eyebrow at Nathan. He grins, running at her and tackling her right into the pool. The rush of water is a shock at first before her body registers the heat and it feels delicious, coupled with the steady grip of Nathan’s arm on her.

She loops her arms around her neck, dragging him in for a kiss. He’s eager about it, party and Barb be damned, it seems. Stevie redoubles her efforts, feeling victorious.

He does all the right things, holding her close but respectful, following her lead when she wraps her legs around his waist. His hands settle on her ass, squeezing a little as they kiss.

“God, it’s freezing,” Carol complains, breaking the spell of the moment. “The heat’s not up high enough.”

“Come on, I’ll warm you up,” Tommy says, a salacious smile on his face.

“I think I’m going to head out,” Robby grumbles, sliding out of the pool and shaking his head like a dog. “Thanks, Stevie.”

He’s summarily ignored by both couples, but a few minutes after he leaves, she and Nathan get out as well, bundled in the guest towels kept in the hutch against the house.

“Come on, Stevie’s parents have a massive bed,” Tommy calls, urging Carol to follow. Shaking her head, she shoots Stevie and Nathan a wink and hurries after him.

“You’re cleaning the sheets,” Stevie yells after them, shuddering at the idea.

“Cold?” Nathan murmurs, so Stevie presses closer to him.

“We should get out of these wet clothes,” Stevie whispers. She feels pretty good, a little buzzed, confidence bolstered as Nathan mindless reaches for her hip. She hasn’t eaten today, so she shouldn’t be bloated. Nathan will be getting her at her best.

“And into dry clothes?” he asks with a smirk.

“Eventually,” Stevie tells him, rocking up on her toes to kiss him. He cups her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks, swiping away her ruined makeup.

“Come on,” she says, guiding him upstairs. 

Right as they get to the top, Barb reappears, startling her a little. Stevie’d forgotten about her, in all honesty, but it’s fine. There’s no way Nathan’s going to turn down the prospect of sex with her for Barb, no matter how pathetic and hangdog she looks.

“I’ll meet you in my room,” she whispers, slipping away. It takes Nathan a couple minutes to come find her, but he’s frowning when he steps into her room.

“Everything okay?” she asks, suddenly nervous.

“Yeah, I just…” Nathan says, carding a hand through his hair. “Never mind.”

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” she says, then slips her sopping sweater off, leaving her in her bra and skirt. She smiles invitingly at him, holding her hand out. Nathan swallows, eyes going wide. He takes cautious steps forward, so Stevie closes the gap.

“Okay?” she asks, mustering up as much confidence as she can. There’s a voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously like her mother, bemoaning Stevie’s stomach, the stubborn softness there, the excess padding on her hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything. We can just talk. I’ll get you cloth—”

Nathan kisses her then, urgent and sharp like he’s never been before. His grip on her jaw is almost bruising, but it feels impossibly good. She gasps breathlessly when he breaks the kiss, a blazing look in his eyes.

“I want this,” he says firmly. “I want you.”

“So, take me,” Stevie says, heart pounding in her chest. She hasn’t felt this way since her first time, nerves and desire warring in her, that need blooming between her thighs.

Nathan’s quick, divesting himself of his clothes before Stevie can catch her breath. She doesn’t even get a chance to admire him—fully naked anyways—before he’s back on her, pushing her back to the bed.

He’s kissing her desperately, like he’ll never get to again, hands roving wildly. Stevie arches up, giving him spaces to unhook her bra. He fumbles then, cursing under his breath when he can’t get it.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Let me.”

“Sorry, I just, uh, I’ve never—”

“I know, it’s okay,” she assures him. “I’m not going anywhere, we can take our time, figure out what feels good.”

Nathan nods, letting out a shaky breath as he moves off her to give her space. She slips the bra off, and after a moment, her skirt. The panties, she leaves on, a flicker of fear slicing through her.

“God,” Nathan says reverently. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Come here,” she says, trying not to squirm under his eyes. He moves slower than she’d like, hands on her hips and sliding up, kneading into the too-soft flesh there, making her blush. Don’t notice, she prays, focus on my tits, come on.

He does, eventually, his hands warm and strong on her breasts. He touches her carefully, feeling the heft of them, gently kneading there too. She lets him explore, lets out some pretty little gasps, giving him a showy arch. It does start to feel good, his thumb roving over her nipples, slow and gentle.

Nathan slides down, kisses her neck in the way he knows she likes before making his way down, mouthing so sweetly at her breasts, tongue flicking against her nipples in ghost-like little licks that make her squirm and gasp for real.

“That feels good?” Nathan whispers to her. Stevie moans for him, arches up even higher into his touch. “Can I?”

His fingers brush along the elastic of her panties, skim along the front. Stevie groans, rough and unpretty at the sudden touch. It feels fucking electric, so Nathan does it again, presses a little harder. She’s careful to make pretty noises this time.

“Take them off,” she says. “I have condoms in my drawer—”

“In a little bit,” he says before he pulls her panties off. Stevie can’t help but hold her breath when Nathan parts her thighs, but she’s good, lets him look. Her bush is trimmed neat, she shaved and scrubbed within an inch of her life. Everything should be pristine.

Still, the nerves burn in the pit of her stomach. Her heart thunders as Nathan looks, traces patterns on her thighs. She jumps like a fucking virgin when he actually touches her, fingers tracing over the seam of her cunt.

“Okay?” Nathan asks.

“Yeah,” Stevie says breathlessly. “Yeah, it feels good.”

“Show me how to touch you,” Nathan tells her. His voice is husky, dark and sexy. He sounds like a real man. Stevie feels impossibly younger under him, virginal and excited. A little scared too.

Still, she knows what he means: put on a show for me.

She drags her fingers lightly over her lips, gently spreading herself, then dipping down to gather whatever wetness she can. She wishes she’d remembered to suck her fingers before.

Boys love that, seeing things in her mouth. It gets them thinking about what it would be like with their cocks in her mouth. That’s the easiest way to get things moving, to get them inside her, and finally get to the parts she likes.

“God,” Nathan whispers, voice shaking. “God, you’re amazing.”

She laughs, still breathless, slowly slips a finger inside.

“This feels good too,” she tells him. “Just… slow.”

Nathan takes direction well, slowly replacing his finger with hers, then hooks it up, hitting a particularly good spot. Stevie throws her head back, revealing her neck.

“You can,” she pants. “With two fingers, you can—”

“Yeah,” he says, sliding another finger in. They’re so long inside her, pressing back into that sweet spot again and again. “Fuck, you’re so hot, you’re so wet here.”

“Just for you,” Stevie remembers to say. Nathan’s slowly chipping away at her ability to speak, and all she wants to do is lay back and just feel his fingers inside her.

“Jesus,” Nathan hisses out, sliding his fingers out to admire the slick shine of them in low light filtering in from the blinds. He works them back in, building back up to that rhythm.

To her surprise, an orgasm starts building, lower than her stomach, deep inside her. Nathan shifts his fingers, scissoring them inside, and that feeling dissolves, leaving her strangely frustrated.

Nathan carries on, unknowing, mapping out every part of her. She tries to focus on that feeling against, tries to bear down against his fingers in a sort of counter rhythm, to squeeze, but it’s no use.

“Here,” she says, catching his wrist and circling the tip of her middle finger against her clit. “Feels good here too.”

At first, he’s too rough, but learns quickly with Stevie’s hand over his, learns how to draw light little circles. That feeling builds back up, almost as good as doing it herself. Usually, if she’s by herself, she just slides a pillow between her legs and squeezes, but this is sharper, more dizzying.

“Can I… I mean, can we,” Nathan stutters. “God, I wanna be inside you so bad.”

“Yeah, baby,” she says. “I want you inside.”

That almost orgasm feeling slips away again, but it’s fine, the feeling of his heated gaze, his needful expression, is more than enough to make up for it. She pulls a condom from the drawer, guides Nathan closer over her. She leans up to kiss him, his arms caging her in. It’s safe, a protective little bubble, just for the two of them.

Careful, she helps guide him in, savoring that first push in. She loves it despite the bite of pain it comes with, but there isn’t any this time, just pure pleasure and pressure, the feeling of filling her up.

“Oh god,” Nathan moans, voice ragged. “Oh, fuck!”

All Stevie can do is moan back in response.

The first few thrusts are shallow, jerky and slow, like Nathan’s figuring out how to move, but then he builds to an actual rhythm. It feels leagues better than it usually does, and she lets out a needy little whimper. Nathan’s face drops into the crook of her neck, dropping his weight to his forearms and elbows as he keeps moving. His breath is hot on her skin. Stevie squirms and a soft sob slips out of her, tingles on her neck, that heat blooming deep inside. Almost there.

Nathan cries out, going rigid above her. He jerks, thrusts roughly a couple more times before he stills. Stevie presses kisses to whatever skin she can reach, coaxes him closer, to drop his full weight on her.

“That was so good,” she whispers into his ear. “You felt so good inside me, perfect inside me.”

Nathan pants roughly, clinging to her. Stevie soaks in it, the closeness, the warmth. They’re pressed together almost everywhere; he’s still inside her.

“Baby,” she croons, unable to help herself. She winds her arms around his neck, reaches up to drag her fingers through his neat, dark hair. He sighs in contentment, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“Stevie,” he mumbles, slipping out of her and rolling onto his side. She immediately snuggles up to him, tucking her head under his chin.

“There’s a trashcan under the nightstand,” she tells him, eyes slipping shut when he puts his arm around her. He gets rid of the condom, turning to snuggle in closer.

“That was…” he shakes his head, finishing the sentence with a kiss. “God, Stevie.”

“Stay?” she asks without thinking. She’s a little embarrassed of herself, but it’s just Nathan. He makes her feel safe enough to ask.

“Baby,” he sighs, exasperation creeping into his tone, and immediately she stiffens. “It’s a school night.”

“I’ll drop you off in the morning,” she says, wheedling like she never does. There’s a part of her that wishes she could stuff those words right back into her mouth, that begs her to quit while she’s ahead, while Nathan still likes her. There’s another part that just wants him here, not matter what.

“Stevie, I have to go,” he says. He slides out of bed, hunting for his clothes. A lump rises in her throat, but she swallows it down.

“You need a ride?” she asks. God, she wishes she never said a goddamn word.

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” He ducks in for a kiss and Stevie returns it a little too desperately. It’s Nathan that pulls back, presses another kiss to her forehead.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Obviously, Stevie doesn’t sleep. Early next morning, Tommy and Carol find her in the living room, eating cereal and watching TV.

“Where’s your boy?” Tommy asks, making his own bowl. Carol starts the coffee, then settles in next to Stevie.

“Yeah, I figured he’d be glued to you,” she says, yawning.

“He left early,” she lies.

“Hey, you okay?” Tommy asks, too perceptive for his own good. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she says. Carol leans her head against Stevie’s shoulders, a silent show of support.

“Come on,” Carol says after a while. “Come do my hair for school, Tommy’ll clean up.”

For all her bitchiness, Carol’s one of the best people Stevie knows. They just get each other, almost the same way she and Tommy used to get each other, before middle school.

They make their way into Stevie’s parent’s bathroom, sitting Carol at the vanity so Stevie can start brushing through her hair.

“So, what actually happened?” Carol asks after a moment. It’s easier to think with the hairbrush in hand, the repetitive motions soothe Stevie’s ragged nerves a little.

“He just… I mean, we hooked up,” Stevie starts. “It was good, you know, like especially for his first time—”

“Damn,” Carol mutters. “It’s always the ones you don’t think about.”

“And then… I asked him to stay the night,” Stevie says, dropping her eyes to Carol’s auburn mane. “He said he had to go.”

“Well, how’d you say it?” Carol asks, a puzzled frown on her face. “You’re, like, the opposite of clingy.”

“I know,” Stevie groans. “I just… I don’t know I felt so—”

“Oh, come on,” Carol interrupts. “You’re not some pathetic girly virgin, okay? You’re better than that.”

“I know,” Stevie repeats. For a while she’s silent, reshaping some of Carol’s ruined curls into soft waves and spraying them into place.

“Stevie,” Carol says, kinder this time. “You’re too hot to freak out like this. Wheeler’s the one pushing his luck. You need to make sure that he knows if he doesn’t act right, you’ll kick him to the curb.”

“Where’d you get that?” Stevie asks sardonically. “Cosmo?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t read the same issue,” Carol sniffs. “Thanks, this looks good.”

“At least I know how to look good,” Stevie mutters.

“Sweetie,” Carol says, standing to face her. “Screw Wheeler, okay? I’ll find you a boyfriend.”

“I’m okay,” Stevie says, finally smiling. “He probably did have a curfew and was worried about breaking it.”

“God, what a loser,” Carol huffs. “Come on, I want to borrow something.”

They get dressed quickly, hurrying down to meet Tommy in the garage. He’s wearing yesterday’s jeans and a pilfered polo, probably from her dad’s closet.

“So, we done with Wheeler or what?” he asks around a mouthful of toast. Carol plucks what hangs out of his mouth and takes a bite, shaking her head.

“Let me just talk to him,” Stevie says. “He’s probably just not used to this, you know?”

“Jesus,” Tommy mutters, rolling his eyes. “You driving or am I?”

“You’re not driving my car, Hagan,” Stevie says, putting on an air like her mother. “Now shut up before I make you sit in the back.”

At school, Stevie doesn’t actually see Nathan until lunch, but he sits with them and takes Stevie’s hand when she slips it in his.

“People are looking at us,” he murmurs when Carol and Tommy are distracted with each other, flirting in their almost aggressive, vicious way.

“I didn’t tell anyone about last night,” Stevie whispers back. “It was just us.”

“I talked to Robby this morning, he said he didn’t see Barb leave,” Nathan mutters, looking around the cafeteria with a frown. “Did you?”

“She wasn’t there in the morning,” Stevie says. “She probably left when everyone… when we went upstairs.”

“I called her mom,” he admits. “She… I don’t know. She told her mom she was staying the night at mine—”

“Her mom’s okay with that?”

“In the guest room,” Nathan amends hurriedly. “We’ve been best friends since pre-k.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Stevie,” he interrupts, tone admonishing. Strangely, she feels like a dumb kindergarten kid caught doing something she isn’t supposed to.

“I didn’t see her leave,” Stevie tells him. “Maybe she’s just skipping or something.” Or nursing her broken heart where no one can see it. That’s what Stevie would do anyways.

“No, she’s not,” Nathan says, but he isn’t looking at her. He slips his hand out of hers to run it through his hair. “I’m going to… I’m going to go the library.”

Before she can say anything, he’s leaving, pressing a perfunctory kiss to her temple without actually looking. She can’t even say anything before he’s striding away

“Boring,” Carol drawls.

“Shut up,” Stevie mumbles, but her heart’s not in it.

-

Nicole finds them after school, eyes wide in a way that means gossip. Carol brightens at that, nudging Tommy, who immediately shuts up about whatever he and Carol are arguing about.

“Guess what I just saw in the dark room,” Nicole asks, a barely contained smirk on her face.

“Don’t leave us hanging,” Stevie says, decidedly uninterested. Nicole falters but plasters her smile back on.

“Um, Jonathan Byers—”

“Gross!”

“Is that it?”

“No! Jonathan Byers had pictures of you, Stevie!” Nicole gets out in a rush. “Like in a bra. Like about to have sex with your boyfriend.”

Stevie’s jaw drops, a rush of disgust flooding her. Her stomach drops, heat rushing to her face. She feels a little sick. Carol makes a gagging sound before breaking into giggles, but Tommy’s got this strange look on his face, something darker than she’s seen on him before. It almost looks like glee, underneath the anger.

“I’m going to kick his ass,” he says, a weird edge in his tone; if Stevie didn’t know better, she’d call it excitement. He used to get like this—sort of, not quite—when he was messing around with Roger, trying to beat him in some game, like he’d do anything to win.

“Shouldn’t Stevie’s boyfriend do that?” Nicole asks snidely.

“Nathan Wheeler?” Carol asks incredulously. “No. Tommy’s going to kick his ass.”

“Some of the pictures are just of Nathan,” Nicole says, lowering her voice a little. She’s got this smirk on her face, like she just won something.

“Nasty!” Carol groans. “Ugh, I knew he was a creep but I had no idea—”

“I could tell,” Tommy says, vicious, victorious. “I knew he was a fucking fag.”

Stevie fidgets awkwardly; it’s fucked up, for sure. She hates that Jonathan Byers of all people saw her and Nathan like that. Still, this sudden new edge to Tommy makes her more nervous than the pictures. It’s like he’s thrilled this is happening.

“I’m going to get some of the guys—”

“Tommy don’t—”

“Why the hell not?”

“You think I want anyone else seeing those pictures?” Stevie hisses at him. “Of me?”

“Plenty of guys have seen you like that,” Nicole grouses.

“Not as many as have seen you,” Carol simpers cruelly, hooking her elbow with Stevie’s. “Whatever, it’s not you need anyone else to kick his ass, Tommy. You think you can’t take Byers—”

“Of course I can take—”

“Great!” Carol cuts him off, clapping her hands. “So go do it. Now, before he gets the chance to leave.”

Tommy stalks off with a snarl, the girls hurrying to follow him. Stevie needs to get ahead of this, needs to deal with those goddamn pictures before Tommy forgets all about it, spoiling for a fight the way he is.

Tommy’s taller, and faster, so he corners Byers right by his car, a nasty smile on his face.

“Whatcha got there, Byers?” he asks mockingly, before wrenching the stack of pictures out of his hands. The idiot, Stevie thinks, to just have those things out, where anyone could see.

“Wait, give that back—” he protests, but Stevie gives him a withering glare.

“Let me see those,” she demands, hand out, infusing as much authority as she can manage in her voice. At once, Tommy backs down, slipping back and handing her the pictures. He’s smirking, eager to see what she’ll do.

The first few are innocuous, just of her house and the pool, Tommy hauling Carol out. The next one is of her window, the curtains wide. Stevie wants to hit her head against something; why didn’t she think to close her curtains? Stupid. It’s the next couple that are most incriminating.

There’s Stevie in her bra and wet hair, Nathan’s back to the camera. Some detached part of her thinks it’s a good picture, kind of artsy, but the bigger part of balks at the sight of it. The more she looks, the weirder she feels. She looks awful.

She forces herself to keep flipping, these of Nathan as he makes his way to the bed. There’s one of his profile, and that’s where Stevie’s attention snags. He looks beautiful, his gorgeous jawline, that perfect nose, his hair tousled artfully.

“Speak of the devil!” Carol crows.

“What’s going on?” It’s Nathan, hurrying towards them, looking between Byers and them.

“Byers was just showing us his latest and greatest,” Tommy says, a smug smirk on his face.

“We’ve heard great things,” Carol chimes in.

“Real artsy,” Nicole adds.

There’s a moment where Stevie wants to throw herself in Nathan’s arms, make him swear up and down that she didn’t really look like that, not so bloated and wide. That part of her is small, easy to ignore, so Stevie slips a smile onto her face, waves the pictures at Nathan. It’s easy enough to slip into this version of herself, catty and cold, angling to cut someone down. It’s almost satisfying.

“We’re connoisseurs of the arts,” she says. Byers tries to lunge for them, but Stevie neatly sidesteps him. “I wanted to see what our local photographer was in to.”

“Oh my god, he’s trembling!” Carol laughs. “He really doesn’t want you to see these, Nathan.”

She hates the way his name sounds on Carol’s lips, cold and vicious, a sneer. Stevie neatly flips the pictures back in order, ignoring Byers’ protests.

“I was looking for my brother,” Byers says desperately.

“No,” Stevie drawls, cutting off whatever excuse he has. “No, see, this is called stalking.”

“What’s going on?” Nathan repeats, a little more forcefully now.

“He was spying at us last night,” Stevie says, handing over the pictures. There’s a part of her that relishes the way the color drains from Jonathan’s face, like all her hurt and fear is being pumped straight into him. Nathan’s brow furrows deeper and deeper as he flips through the pictures, but he doesn’t actually say anything.

“You can tell he knows what he did was wrong,” Stevie says, though she’s not sure to who. No one said anything while Nathan looked at the pictures, everyone waiting to see what he’ll do, how he’ll deal with Byers and fight for Stevie’s honor. But he didn’t. He didn’t do or say anything at all. “But that’s the thing about perverts. It’s hardwired into them, they just can’t help themselves. So, you have to punish them, take away their toys.”

Tommy obliges, ripping the camera strap when he yanks it off Byer’s neck. Byers stumbles, tries to grab it back, but Tommy’s stronger and taller, holding it aloft, waiting for Stevie. There’s a maniacal edge to his satisfied grin.

“Please,” Byers begs, finally looking her in the eyes. He’s completely pale, eyes sunken in, greasy-haired and gaunt. She could almost feel sorry for him. “Not the camera, please!”

Carol grabs the pictures back from Nathan, ripping them apart until she has handfuls of photo scraps.

“Alright,” Stevie says, taking the camera. She holds it out to Byers, like she’s forgiving him. “Here you go, man.”

The second he tries to grab it, Stevie lets it slip from her fingers, hitting the ground in a crash of glass and metal. Carol tosses the scraps into the air like confetti, laughing as she does. Tommy cackles like this is some great joke Stevie played, like a prank or something. Nicole snickers too, but Stevie’s not laughing.

Whatever satisfaction she felt dissolves instantly when Byers sinks to his knees, hands shaking as he gathers up the remnants of his camera and the scraps of photos. She just feels… hollow.

At the very least, Carol ripped the picture of her up small enough that no one would be able to tell that it was her, not unless they pieced the scraps back together.

“The game’s about to start,” she says to Nathan, but he shakes his head, still frowning, still looking over the scraps.

“Come on,” Tommy says, looping his arm around Stevie’s shoulders and guiding her away.

“At least you looked good,” Carol tells her as they make their way to the locker rooms. “And you still had your bra on. But, what happened to kicking his ass, Tommy?”

“Hey, I was just trying to give Wheeler a chance to step up to the plate,” he says, tugging Carol under his other arm. It’s as clear of a dismissal as Nicole’s going to get, so she scampers away. “Not my fault he’s spineless. Seriously, Stevie, are you done with him now or what?”

“He was just surprised,” Stevie mutters, all the energy drained from her. She and Carol are going to be late, she thinks. They’ll miss warms ups trying to get ready and caught up to the squad.

“I guess,” Tommy shrugs. “I’d probably freak too, if I knew a pervy fag was into me.”

“We have to go,” Stevie tells Carol, who just rolls her eyes. She hasn’t done a full warm up since freshman year, but Stevie’s gunning for captain next year.

“I’ll see you guys after?” Tommy asks distractedly, catching sight of his basketball friends.

The game is fine, they win at least. It’s JV, though, so no afterparties. Stevie can see some of the guys from varsity football in the stands with Tommy and the rest of his boys, all horsing around, not really watching the game at all.

“Are you okay?” It’s Chrissy Cunningham who asks, a sprite of a girl. She’s their flyer for a reason. Stevie could probably toss her around singlehandedly.

“Oh, yeah, I’m… yeah, I’m fine,” she says, taking a second to clear her head. She slips on a smile, adjusts her ponytail. She’s always hated the awful Tigers-green scrunchie, but it’s good to play with at least.

“Is it your boyfriend?” Chrissy asks, still unconvinced. “You just started dating Nathan, right? In my grade?”

“Yeah, but we’re good, he’s just busy tonight,” Stevie assures her, feeling almost guilty for lying. “What about you? You just started dating a guy on the basketball team, right? A kid in your grade?”

“Yeah, Jason Carver,” Chrissy says, grinning bashfully as her cheeks burn pink. “We just started, and he’s so sweet to me.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Carol cuts in, coming over to lean against Stevie. “Have you put out yet?”

“Jason’s not like that,” Chrissy protests, absently touching her little gold cross necklace.

“Honey, they’re all like that,” Carol says condescendingly. “Even the preacher’s son. Probably especially the preacher’s son.”

“Carol, leave her alone,” Stevie says, tugging on Carol’s ponytail. “Not everyone’s boyfriend is a total horndog.”

“This isn’t the fifties,” Carol snarks. “Nobody’s a virgin anymore.”

“Shut up, slut.”

“Takes one to know one, whore,” Carols sings sweetly at her. Stevie laughs, feeling that awful heaviness ease.

Chrissy’s eyes go wide, like she’s shocked that they’re not virgins or something, but there are plenty of other non-virgins on the squad, most of the upperclassmen.

“Relax,” Stevie assures her. “It’s cool, and I think it’s sweet that he’s not bothering you about that.”

Chrissy nods, relaxes when Stevie pats her shoulder. She’s a sweet girl, way nicer than most of the other girls here, and she’s a damn good flier. She’s never sloppy with her moves and she never misses a warmup, let alone practice. She’s got the perfect figure too, she’d never look awful in just her bra.

Stevie bites back the strange rush of jealousy, tightening her ponytail one more time and forcing herself to focus on cheering.

Chapter Text

The news that Will Byers is dead hits the school gossip-mill hard, the prevalent rumor being that Jonathan Byers did it in a fit of freak rage, then dumped him in the quarry. The news of his death was on the ten o’clock news, and Stevie only caught it because she was flipping channels, but she didn’t miss when the reporter said there were no signs of foul play.

In all actuality, the kid was probably just playing by the quarry and slipped. Everyone used to play there, daring each other to jump into the water so far below them. Will was probably distracted or something, maybe he slipped in a puddle, or got caught in the mud too close to the edge.

She feels bad for him, the poor kid, but at least they know what happened. They’ll probably close the quarry, she thinks. Her father said something about that last summer, how the Sattler company was going bankrupt, about how he was thinking about buying it.

Byers isn’t in school today, and Stevie feels almost bad about the camera, but then her mind keeps flashing to that awful picture, her mother’s voice hissing in her ear about how broad she looks, her shoulders too mannish, the softness on her belly.

She shudders when she thinks about anyone’s eyes on it, let alone Byers’. She knows though, in the back of her mind, that he wasn’t actually looking at her.

Nathan’s silent today, barely speaking. Stevie skips her gym class to sit with him in the baseball dugout, holding his hand and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Is your brother okay?” she asks softly. “I know you said they were friends.”

Nathan starts, like he’d forgotten that she was there. He huffs out a sigh, leaning back and shutting his eyes.

“Mike… I don’t know,” he admits. “I can’t even—”

He gets choked up then, cutting himself off. Barb’s not in school today either.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, wanting desperately to soothe the hurt from his face, ease the tension out of his rigid posture. Nathan’s silent for a long time, eyes shut tight and throat working.

“I went back around your place last night,” he says.

“What, you didn’t—”

“I was looking for clues, for—for Barb,” he admits. “I think… I think something happened to her. When I make the report—”

“You’re going to the cops?” Stevie says, stunned. She is so dead. Her father’s going to ream her out, the millionth lecture about what a disappointment she is. He’ll probably take back his credit card, and his checkbook.

Her mother though… she can’t even imagine what’ll happen if she finds out about the alcohol and the boys. Tommy’s one thing—and her parents can barely stand him—but a boyfriend? Forget it.

“I think Barb is missing, she never came home after the party—”

“Are you going to tell the cops about the party? You’re not going to tell them about drinking, are you?” Stevie asks frantically.

“Stevie, listen to me,” Nathan says sharply. “When I was there, I saw something. This thing, I don’t what it was, it was shaped like a man, but it didn’t have a face, I don’t know—”

“Why didn’t you just knock on the door? You knew I was home,” Stevie asks.

“I didn’t think—I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Nathan stutters. “I was scared, I guess.”

“What exactly are you going to tell the cops?” Stevie asks. They’ll want to talk to her, to Carol and Tommy too, probably Robby.

“Are you serious right now?” Nathan asks incredulously.

“You don’t understand, my parents are grade-A assholes! They’re going to murder me,” Stevie groans, scrubbing a hand over her face, makeup be damned.

“Barb is missing, and you’re thinking about getting in trouble with your parents?” Nathan demands, angry now. He’s glaring at her, and it makes Stevie’s stomach drop.

“Just, are you or are you not going to tell the cops about the drinks?” she asks. She needs to make sure everything’s good first, and then she can make Nathan feel better.

“Not,” he says, almost a snarl. “You know what, get out.”

“What?”

“Out, just get out,” Nathan grits out. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

“Nathan—”

“Now, Stevie!”

If this was anyone else, anyone in the world, Stevie might’ve slapped him, or said something vicious, but she can’t get anything out of her mouth. Her chest goes tight, her breath shallow. Tears burn in the back of her eyes. She slips out, waits awkwardly on the diamond, but Nathan makes no moves to apologize, to coax her back to the bench. He just sits there, staring straight ahead, his jaw tight.

At home, she waits for a phone call, from the cops, or from her parents, or anyone. Nothing comes, so she calls up Tommy, asks if he’s busy.

She walks over to his house, something she doesn’t really do now that Tommy and Carol are together. There was a time when she basically lived here. Tommy’s mom, April, used to set out a sixth place setting for her every day, regardless of where she was. More often than not, she was there.

After exchanging quick conversation with Tommy’s younger sister, Charlie, he leads her out back. There’s a massive oak tree in their backyard. The summer of ’76, Dan Hagan built a treehouse with all the kids help, though Roger was the only one who actually did anything. Charlie and Stevie spent their time trying to pin Tommy down and paint his mouth with April’s red lipstick.

“Wanna go up?” he asks. “You warm enough?”

Tommy’s different when it’s the two of them, more like he used to be. He’s not putting a show on for anyone, not for his brother, or the basketball boys, or Carol.

“Yeah,” Stevie says. The climb is soothing, the worn wood familiar under her hand. She could do this blindfolded—has, in fact, when she and Tommy were eleven. They used to dare each other to go up and down like that, to see if they’d fall.

It’s the same inside as it’s always been, a ratty old rug covering most of the floor, a couple of blankets stacked in the corner next to the old crank lamp. The door had stuck, probably swollen shut from the rain and cold. They pried it open, but the window shutters weren’t budging.

Tommy cranks the lamp, a pale-yellow light flooding the small space. Stevie grabs a blanket, draping it around herself.

He produces a joint from his pocket, lights it, and takes a long drag before passing it to her. She feels a little more normal, a little more settled after her first drag.

“What happened? This about the pictures?” he asks, almost gently. When Stevie first met him, she used to fantasize about being his twin, about sharing a bunk bed with Charlie, about whispering to Tommy late into the night through the vents. Tommy, Stevie, and Charlie, the perfect little trio.

“No, not the pictures,” Stevie sighs. She tells him about the fight in the dugout, about Nathan going to the cops, about Barb.

“Shit,” Tommy says on an exhale, smoke billowing up. Roger’s the one who taught Tommy to smoke, and Tommy taught her and Carol. He’s the one who gets the stuff from some senior. “Are the cops going to call our parents?”

“No idea,” she admits. “Mine called again last night. They’re ‘extending their trip’, so they’ll be back Sunday.”

“So, party tomorrow night?” Tommy asks with a grin.

“Tommy,” she groans. She doesn’t think she can handle that, not after the last party.

“There are going to be tons of parties after the game, we could go to one of them,” Tommy wheedles. “Or you could come here. You could bunk with Charlie probably. My mom wouldn’t care.”

She almost wants to say yes, but this is the first time she’s been to the Hagans without Carol since she and Tommy started dating, and she already feels kind of guilty.

“We’ll drive around, see what going on,” she concedes. It’s probably no good to just sit alone and spiral on her own. At least the two of them can keep her mind off everything.

“Charlie’s been asking about you, wants to join cheer,” he says. Stevie perks up at that.

“Why didn’t she try out this year?” Charlie was probably better than a lot of the freshmen who tried out at the beginning of the year, Stevie would’ve taken her in a heartbeat. She did ballet for a couple years, she could probably handle it

“Sprained wrist,” Tommy explains, taking the last drag. “Fell off her bike. Had to carry her home, the little shit.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” Stevie teases, crawling over to pinch his cheeks. Tommy dodges, laughing, and it turns into wrestling. It’s little kid stuff, nothing sexy or romantic about it. She ends up cuddled against his side, like puppies huddling together.

The high hits her, relaxing all her muscles. She goes boneless, relishing the feeling. Her breathing comes easy, her brain a little fuzzy. The entire world is hazy and slow.

“Ditch Wheeler,” Tommy says abruptly. “Tony Romano likes you, he’s a friend. He’s decent, a pretty good forward.”

“Oh yeah, because being good at basketball makes you a good boyfriend,” Stevie snarks.

“Seriously,” Tommy says, rolling over to his side and propping his head up on his arm. “You don’t get strung out over guys, it’s—”

“Pathetic?”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Tommy says quietly. “And anyways, Wheeler doesn’t like us. He likes you fine, but he’s not friends with us.”

“What do you have against him?”

“He didn’t say shit about that damn picture,” Tommy says heatedly. “I’m not even your fucking boyfriend—”

“You’re my friend, though,” Stevie interjects.

“Boyfriend trumps friend,” Tommy says dismissively. “The point is, he should’ve dealt with it the second he knew what was up.”

“He didn’t even know—”

“He just stood there when saw those pictures! I would’ve swung at Byers, I would’ve knocked his fucking teeth in!”

“Jesus, what has you gagging for a fight?” Stevie retorts. “Carol doesn’t fuck you enough?”

“If that was Carol—”

“I get it,” Stevie cuts him off tartly. Tommy huffs, slumping back down.

“My dad’ll kill me if he finds out about the drinking,” he says. “Or that I spent the night. He thinks I was at Robby’s.”

“Dan’s a softy,” Stevie says with a smile. “It’s April you have to be afraid of.”

“It’s going to be headline news at Hagan Thanksgiving,” he groans. “April Hagan murders middle child, once and for all.”

“Your grandma would love that,” Stevie drawls sarcastically. His grandmother is basically the devil incarnate, a vicious chain-smoking bitty with a deep seeded hatred for her grandchildren, seconded only by her hatred of her daughters-in-law.

“Old Hagatha can drop dead,” Tommy grouses. “Roger’s bringing his new girlfriend, Claire or something, this year though, new target.”

“What happened to Jessica?”

“Who cares?”

So, the rest of the night goes, talking about stupid stuff, making Stevie laugh and feel twelve years old again, safe in the cocoon of the Hagan Treehouse. Tommy walks her back to hers at half-past eleven, when April hisses for them to come down lest they catch their death up there.

She tries to make Stevie stay, promises French toast in the morning, but she weasels out of that as politely as she can. Spending time with Tommy’s mom, great as she is, makes her feel shitty about her own mother. The older she gets, the less she can stomach it.

Chapter Text

Nathan’s not in school today, and neither is Jonathan Byers. Stevie has a pretty bad feeling about that.

She can barely focus, doesn’t even bother to pretend to take notes. She spends lunch carefully combing through each table, trying to catch sight of her wayward boyfriend.

She doesn’t see him the rest of the day either, not in the hallways or the parking lot. It’s a home game tonight, most people just sticking around and hanging out until the stadium opens. Nathan isn’t there, no matter how many times Stevie checks.

She’s so distracted that she and Carol barely make it to the sidelines on time, catching the very end of warmups. Veronica, the current captain glares at them but doesn’t say anything.

Varsity football is, of course, great, a home game win. Stevie throws herself into the routine, focusing on every movement, about making each part perfect. Chrissy flies higher than she has all season, Stevie and her girls in sync, pushing her up with everything they have and catching her ankle with that same steadiness. Chrissy herself executes a flawless heel stretch, her body completely still.

Stevie nails her tumbling routine, the movements easing the tightness of her chest, letting her breathe a little deeper. Each flip and twist pushes away any nerves and anxieties she has, and all that’s left is the work. Stevie’s always loved the work.

After the game, her, Carol, and Tommy swing by a party, still in their gear. It’s loud, overwhelming in a good way, but Stevie can’t quite lose herself the way she wants to, the way she needs to. She can’t stop thinking about Nathan, the ferocity in his eyes, the fire in his glare.

Saturday afternoon, she decides, fuck it, she’ll go try and find Nathan herself. She drives to the Wheelers house, trying to think of something to say if Mrs. Wheeler opens the door. Thankfully, the garage is open, and she can see someone in it. Stevie prays it’s Nathan and hurries over.

In fact, it is, and he almost takes her head off with a baseball bat.

“Jesus!” Stevie yelps, jumping.

“God, Stevie!” Nathan hisses. “What are you doing here?”

“I just… Nathan I’m sorry,” she says, taking a long breath. “I should’ve taken you a lot more seriously, about Barb. I’m glad you went to the cops, I hope they find her, and I hope she’s okay.”

Nathan deflates a little, expression softening. He takes a step towards her, and for a moment, she thinks he’ll pull her into a hug, but he doesn’t. The distance between them is almost palpable.

“And,” Stevie continues in a rush. “While we let the police do their job, maybe I could take your mind off it? Come out with me tonight, there’ll be parties and we can just, you know, have fun.”

“Stevie,” he sighs, but Stevie barrels on.

“Or we can catch a movie tomorrow,” she babbles. “All the Right Moves is playing! You loved Risky Business, and this has Tom Cruise in it too!”

“Stevie, I just… not tonight,” he says, soft. Stevie bites her lip, holding her tongue. Call me baby, come on, she thinks.

“What about the movie?”

“Not this weekend, okay? Maybe some other time,” he says.

“Or we could just hang out,” Stevie offers, voice getting smaller. “Here, or my place.”

“Stevie, I can’t,” he says, a little firmer. “Will’s funeral was this morning, and Mike needs me, it’s just a lot, okay?”

“Okay,” Stevie concedes. “But I’m here. I didn’t know about the funeral—”

“I don’t think—”

“Yeah, I know,” she says quickly. God, she needs something from him, a touch, or a kiss, or a hug. “I just want to help, to make you feel better.”

“I know,” Nathan says on a sigh, but then he smiles. “Next weekend, okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, and because she can’t take it anymore, she rocks up on her toes, presses a kiss to his jaw. “I’ll see you, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. It’s not a dismissal, this time, but it still hurts the same way.

When she gets home, Stevie tries to assure herself that everything’s fine, that she and Nathan are still okay, their fight resolved. She gets ready for whatever party she’s supposed to go to alone, promising Tommy and Carol she’ll just meet them, that she’ll drive them home after.

Heather Holloway is tonight’s host, the girlfriend of Calvin Fischer, a senior on the varsity team. Heather’s fine, friendly enough. Stevie lifeguards with her during the summer.

She’s accosted with sound and heat the second she walks in the living room, the music blaring and what looks like a million people. People grab her, pulling her to dance, then letting her pass through to the kitchen. Stevie hunts down a coke, taking small sips as she surveys the crowd.

Carol squeals when she catches her eye, rushing over to grab her up and pull her back onto the dance floor.

“Where’s Tommy?” she yells.

“Keg stand!” Carol yells back. They dance for a while, Madonna flowing into Cyndi Lauper, who Stevie’s quickly fallen in love with. It feels good, normal, but then she sees a tall brunet boy in the crowd and all the weirdness with Nathan comes rushing back. Suddenly, she can’t be in this room.

She stumbles outside, dismally sober. She couldn’t bring herself to drink even one beer, even if Tommy and Carol are already pretty drunk. Besides, she’s driving. She’s not spending the night passed out somewhere in Heather’s house.

She leans against the cool brick, shivering the early November chill.

“You alright?” Stevie jumps, but it’s just that drug dealer senior. Munson, or Munster, or something like that. The guy Tommy buys from.

“Jesus, you scared me,” Stevie gasps. “Wear a bell or something.”

He arches an eyebrow at her, jangling the chain clipped to his belt loops. Sort of cool, in a weird, left-field kind of way.

“Forgive me, your highness,” he says, lighting a cigarette and sticking it in the corner of his mouth. “Far be it for the peasants to disrupt the tranquility of Princess Stephanie’s party.”

“First off, this isn’t my party,” Stevie gripes. “And second, no one calls me Stephanie. Who are you again?”

His lip curls, like she said something bad. He takes a couple long drags before he answers.

“Eddie Munson, at your service,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat to her. He says it like he’s making fun of her or something, and she immediately bristles. “You looking to buy?”

That’s when Tommy and Carol spill out of the door, a little tipsy and laughing. They immediately stop, catching sight of Eddie and Stevie.

“You okay? He bothering you?” Tommy asks, tucking Carol under his arm.

“God forbid her highness interact with us lowly plebs,” Eddie mutters. “Just trying to make a sale, man.”

“She’s good,” Tommy says brusquely. “I still have stuff.”

“Your loyal little lapdog speaks for you?” Eddie asks her. Stevie can’t help the blush that rises. He’s still making fun, like he knows anything about her, or her friends.

“Whatever,” she mutters. “Come on guys, let’s go back to my place.”

“Farewell, princess!” Eddie calls as they go back to her car.

“That’s gross,” Carol says, face screwed up. “Eddie Munson was hitting on you!”

“Not really,” she says. “He was just smoking there—”

“He’s a fag, too,” Tommy says emphatically. “And a freak. And he does all that devil worship stuff.”

“Devil worship? In Hawkins?” Stevie rolls her eyes. This town doesn’t have anyone ballsy enough to try that, not even Eddie Munson, or so she assumes.

“He’s a total freak,” Carol says, then bursts into giggles. “Okay fuck, marry, kill: Eddie Munson, Mr. Gable from middle school, and Higgins.”

“Gross,” Stevie groans, laughing. “That’s your worst one yet!”

“Answer the question, Harrington,” Tommy says, mock-authoritative. She rolls her eyes, slips into the drivers seat. It’s a kind of precarious drive, backing out amongst the sea of badly parked cars.

“Marry Mr. Gable—”

“Ew!”

“What? He was nice! Kind of cute in a dorky sort of way,” Stevie defends herself, giggling.

“Who are you fucking?” Tommy asks, waggling his eyebrows. He waggles his eyebrows at her, and Carol lets loose a porn-star moan.

“Nasty!” Stevie crows. “Never make me think about you in bed, like, ever!”

Carol hams it up, like she’s creaming to the thought to Clark Gable. Stevie snorts. Sweet as he is, there’s something that screams “adult virgin” about him.

“Okay, I guess, fuck Eddie Munson—”

“Nasty!”

“That’s fucking disgusting!” Tommy gags. “You’d catch that gay disease!”

“Oh my god, shut up, Tommy,” Stevie says, swatting at him. Besides, at least Eddie isn’t boring, even if he is annoying and weird. He’s not bad to look at either, if you don’t mind that beanpole thing he has going on. Stevie wouldn’t mind it.

“That’s assuming that he isn’t a virgin,” Carol says snidely. “I doubt anyone wants to fuck him, gay or not.” Her voice dips on the word “gay” like she’s scared to say it.

“Kill Higgins,” Stevie finishes. “That’s the first thing I decided.”

“Jesus, what happened to your taste?” Carol asks. “Before Nathan—”

“Carol,” Tommy hisses.

Stevie falls silent, focusing on driving. They’re not far from the Wheeler house, maybe five minutes away. It’s closer than her place anyway, and then the idea strikes.

“I want to do something really quick,” Stevie says, after a minute of just idling there on Heather’s street. “I just want to check on him.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Stevie, don’t be pathetic—”

“Just really quick!” she argues. “Just so I know that—” That he’s alive. That he knows she’s sorry. That he still likes her.

“You have five minutes,” Carol decides. “And then we’re laying on the horn. I don’t care if that pisses off the neighbors.”

“Okay fine,” Stevie agrees. There’s some ancient, beat-to-hell car on the street, parked not far from the Wheelers. Someone’s probably here. Stevie sticks her thumbnail in her mouth, nibbling while she tries to decide what to do.

The front door’s definitely out. It’s late, and Stevie’s still in her cheer uniform, reeking of sweat, smoke, and beer. She doesn’t want Mrs. Wheeler to hate her. She looks around, spotting trashcans next to the garage. It’s not that high a jump to the roof of the garage, and Nathan’s room is right there.

It’s fine. She’s an athlete. She’s got this. Nathan might even think it’s romantic.

So, she climbs up on the trashcans, clinging to the walls, then the gutter, then leaping up and hauling her weight up. She’s thankful for the many years of gymnastics, thankful for her “hideous man arms”, for her flexibility as she plants one foot on the roof.

She moves slowly and carefully, creeping towards the window. Nathan has his lights on still. She can just imagine it, him sitting at his desk or sprawling over the bed, stewing and thinking about her, wishing she was there.

Instead, she sees Jonathan Byers.

Jonathan Byers wraps an arm around Nathan. Jonathan Byers on Nathan’s bed. Jonathan Byer’s coat slung on the back of Nathan’s desk chair. They’re sitting there, sides pressed together, shoulder to hip to thigh.

Stevie ducks down fast, heart pounding in her chest. Her palms tingle. She tries to take a breath but there’s not enough air. She half jumps, half falls off the garage roof, landing in a heap in the grass. Her ankles and knees are fine, thank God, but her ass hurts like hell.

“Shit!” Tommy hisses, trying to be quiet. “Are you okay?”

“You drive,” Stevie mumbles, letting Tommy pull her to her feet. “I don’t—I can’t.”

“I got it,” he says. Belatedly, Stevie remembers he had a couple of beers, but Tommy shakes his head when she tries to take it back. “I’m okay, I’ll get us back just fine.”

“Okay,” Stevie mutters. She slips into the back seat, where Carol immediately wraps an arm around her.

“What happened?” she asks softly.

“He, I don’t know, Jonathan Byers was there—”

“Wait, Byers was there?” Carol asks, her eyebrows shooting up.

“With Wheeler?” Tommy asks, though he doesn’t sound very surprised. “I fucking knew it.”

“What?”

“Come on, Stevie, you think any straight guy could fuck you and not be obsessed with you?”

“Exactly,” Carol says, petting Stevie’s hair.

“Those fucking fags,” Tommy swears. “I’m going to kick both of their asses!”

“Just—just drive, Tommy,” Stevie says, tears burning in the back of her eyes.

“I’m serious!” Tommy barrels on. “Me, the rest of the guys, we’re going to—”

“Shut up,” she begs, voice cracking pitifully. “Please.”

Tommy does, thankfully, but the vicious set to his jaw doesn’t ease. Stevie loses the battle against the lump in her throat, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Oh, babe,” Carol says softly. “It’s going to be okay. Fuck him, okay? He doesn’t matter. He’s pathetic.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Stevie mumbles into Carol’s shoulder. She’s getting snot and tears and makeup on her shoulder, but Carol still holds her close.

“Aw, shit, Stevie,” Tommy says, voice softening, uncertainty creeping into his tone. “Come on, you never cry.”

He parks kind of haphazardly in her driveway, but they’re here, in one piece, the car intact.

“Go make drinks,” Carol says, dispatching Tommy as soon as they get in the door. “And snacks. And pick a movie.”

Carol holds Stevie’s hand guides her upstairs and parks her in her bathroom. She wets a towel, swiping it over Stevie’s face carefully. She lets her eyes slip shut, the warmth of the towel soothing her.

“Wash your face for real,” Carol tells her. “I’ll get you something to wear.”

Stevie does, thankful to have someone to tell her what to do. She feels so… anchorless. What was the point, if Nathan wanted boys instead of girls? Why would he let her fall like that, spur her on, kiss her, touch her, lie to her?

Carol brings her last year’s cheer camp t-shirt and a pair of shorts. She’s dressed similarly, her hair swept up with a scrunchie. Carol’s hand is warm on her shoulder, her eyes beseeching.

“No more crying, okay?” she says. “Fuck everything. We’re going to get completely shit-faced, eat like it doesn’t matter, and watch whatever random shit Tommy picked.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stevie says tiredly. She wants the questions swirling through her head to stop, wants to forget she ever saw anything. In the living room, Tommy’s got some movie on that Stevie can’t even take in.

She gets the middle, cuddled between her best friends. She drinks down everything in the glass Tommy handed her, then cracks open one of the beers on the coffee table.

Tommy laughs at something on the screen, the vibrations running through Stevie. She slumps lower, head pillowed on Carol’s thighs and legs over Tommy’s lap. He reaches for Carol, pulling her closer, his other hand radiating warmth on Stevie’s thigh.

The more she drinks, the easier it is to fall into the lull of Carol’s fingers carding through her hair, Tommy’s hands stroking over her skin. Warm and comfortable.

Time gets fuzzy, Stevie’s eyes get heavier. Someone pulls her to her feet, guides her upstairs, and into a bed.

“—not my fault—”

“—dick to yourself—”

“—so lame, like we’re little kids—”

“—asshole—”

 In the space of one breath, Stevie falls asleep, sandwiched between probably the only two people who love her in the entire world.

Chapter Text

There’s something digging into Stevie’s thigh, warm, stiff. It takes a moment to register it as a boner, and another to realize it’s Tommy.

“Dude.” Her voice comes out a croak. “Gross, get your boner away from me.”

“Fucking told you,” Tommy grumbles, words garbled. “S’not my fault.”

Still, he turns over, taking most of the comforter with him. All she can see is a tuft of his mussed hair, and it almost makes her laugh. There’s a groan from her other side—Carol—who slowly sits up, bleary-eyed and frowning.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled. “My head.”

“Let me up,” Stevie says, clambering over Carol. “Bathroom.”

Stevie doesn’t wake up until she’s done in the bathroom, relieved, teeth brushed, and face washed. She’s still kind of sweaty—Tommy puts out heat like a goddamn radiator and Carol had basically glued herself to Stevie’s side. She contemplates a shower, but decides aspirin and water is probably a better idea.

After half an hour, Carol drags herself downstairs, looking a little more alive. Stevie’s got coffee brewing already, the scent of it filling the living room. It’s sunny day, light streaming from the windows. Stevie really needs to get better about closing curtains.

“Hey,” Carol says, dropping onto the couch to sit next to her. “You alive?”

“I’m alive,” she says. “Thanks for—you know, everything last night.”

“Don’t get gross and sappy,” Carol says, but she smiles, nonetheless. “Fuck it, you know? It doesn’t even matter.”

Neither of them says Nathan’s name, but it hangs in the silence. Neither of them wants to be the first to bring it up. Stevie’s seen Carol rip apart girls crying for much, much less, but she’s been sweet. Stevie wants to take her hand, squeeze it, but she doesn’t want to push her luck.

“Coffee,” Tommy groans from the top of the stairs, hair still mussed, eyes barely open, like he just dragged himself out of bed. Knowing him, he did.

“Get it yourself,” Carol tells him, flipping her hair back. “And get me a refill.”

“Mine too?” Stevie asks. Tommy glares at them both, but he takes their cups, nonetheless.

“You’re both getting it plain black,” he tells them, voice still like gravel. By the time everyone’s been caffeinated and fed, it’s mid-afternoon. Stevie tries not to think about Nathan, forces herself to focus on anything else when thoughts of him crop up.

She feels… not better, but not so shell-shocked. She’s pissed that he lied to her like, blew her off like she didn’t matter, dismissed her from the dugout like it was nothing, like she was dumb kid bothering him. The thing with Byers is hard to wrap her mind around.

Nathan came when he was with her, was eager and heated every time he touched her. He’s a good guy, straight-edged and responsible. He’s just not the type. Byers, though, she can see that.

It’s not disgust she feels, just a stomach-churning shock. She wishes desperately Nathan had just told her. Yeah, she would’ve been pissed, but it’s not like she would’ve told anyone. Stevie doesn’t pride herself on much, but she is loyal. Besides, it’s not anyone’s business.

Finding out like that, in front of Tommy and Carol, had been awful. There’s a part of her that’s still loyal to Nathan, that balks to hear him called queer or fag. That part is much smaller in the face of her anger though, the betrayal of Nathan’s lies, his curt dismissal.

“What are we doing today?” Carol asks. “We can’t just sit around the house.”

“What do you want to do?” Stevie asks, cleaning up the kitchen a little.

“Let’s go to Indy,” she says. “I want to shop—”

“Nope,” Tommy says. “I’m getting the guys together and we’re going to kick queer ass.”

“What? Tommy, no just let it go—”

“Not a chance,” he says, that strange, mad-dog look on his face. “I’m tearing Wheeler apart, and Byers too.”

“Let’s just forget about them—”

“Wait,” Carol says, a sly smile on her lips. “I have a better idea.”

Carol’s idea, which Tommy loved, has them in the alley across from the movie theater, waiting for the boys to finish with the spray paint. Tommy grabbed Evan Dawson, Peter Donnelly, and for some reason Jason Carver, Chrissy’s boyfriend. The boy who doesn’t push.

He’s waiting with the girls in the alley, shifting nervously, but grinning all the same. Hawkins' Cinema only has two theaters, and both are occupied, which means the scant crew are busy. The ticket booth is closed, so that gives them at least a couple more minutes.

ALL THE RIGHT MOVES STARRING NATHAN “THE FAG” WHEELER

Tommy’s handwriting sucks, but anyone can read the words. They’re in a quiet lull during the usual Saturday rush, but some people have already seen it, snickering and yelling up at Tommy and the boys as they finish up.

That vicious part of her can’t wait for Nathan to see it, for that same hurt she feels to flash across his face, for him to understand. She ignores that little part of her that tells her it won’t matter, that she’ll feel like shit regardless.

“What do you think?” Tommy asks, grinning like a little kid when he bounds up to them. “I’d see that movie.”

“And the sequel,” Peter adds. “Fighting Fags.” He looks to Stevie, a quick check to see if she’s laughing, but she just rolls her eyes. Thankfully, he knows when to shut the hell up.

“So, Stevie, you single?” Evan asks, smirking at her. He’s tall, good-looking, and blond, but there’s nothing interesting about him. He parrots out all the same jokes as the other boys, has all the same lines, and probably kisses the exact same way.

“Obviously,” she dead-pans.

“Looking to change that?” Stevie ignores that, turning her attention to where Tommy’s still playing with the spray paint, scrawling out JONATHAN BYERS IS A PERVERT on the plywood boards in the alley.

“Are you done yet?” she asks, hands on her hips.

“What?” Tommy laughs. “The people should know!”

Stevie fidgets a little, a little sliver of guilt slicing through her. Byers doesn’t actually have anything to do with this. Yeah, he knew Nathan was with her, but Nathan should have been the one to pump the brakes, to actually remember his goddamn girlfriend. That, plus everything going on with his brother. No one should get their ass kicked the same week they bury a sibling, no matter how much they deserve it

The boys dick around in the alley, tussling with each other, fighting over the spray paint like little puppies fight over a toy. Carol’s having fun at least, alternating between laughing at the boys to taking in the reactions of the people that spill out of the movie theater.

The kids all laugh, pointing and whispering amongst themselves. It’ll be all over town soon.

Stevie doesn’t have to wait too long for Nathan’s reaction. Almost an hour later, Nathan himself comes marching into the alley, eyes blazing and jaw set. It’s totally unfair that just the sight of him makes Stevie a little weak in the knees. There’s something different about him, almost more grown up.

The boys hoot and holler behind her, but his attention is focused squarely on her.

“What the hell is that?” he snarls, low in his throat.

“You didn’t like it?” Stevie asks, that inner mean-streak rising up to meet his challenge. “I don’t know, I thought it was honest.”

“Did you do this, you made Tommy and those boys—”

“I saw you,” Stevie says, voice shaking. She feels like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears or screaming in his face. “With Jonathan in your room. I came to check on you and I saw you together.”

Nathan’s eyes widen, mouth falling open. He looks a little afraid before that fire comes roaring back, jaw set again.

“I don’t know what you saw, but it’s not what you think,” Nathan says coldly. “We were just—”

“What?” Stevie asks when he falters. “Finish that sentence. What were you doing?”

Everyone goes silent, waiting for what Nathan will say. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jonathan standing a little ways off, like he can’t decide if he wants to run or not.

“Were you studying?” Stevie asks, voice icy but steady. “Were you tutoring him like you tutored me?”

Nathan stays quiet, still as a statue. He’s barely breathing. Stevie feels like she’s floating away, like she’s not really here in her body, that it’s not her in this moment, just an empty body.

“I was worried about you,” Stevie says softly. “I can’t believe I was already worried about you.”

Behind her, she can hear the boys whispering to each other, rearing for a fight, but everyone’s waiting for her. The second Tommy sees tears, it’ll be bloodshed.

“Go to hell, Nathan,” she says, barely above a whisper. She is not going to cry in front of him, not at all.

“Come on, Nate, let’s just go.”

Nate.

Stevie’s hands shake a little and suddenly, she wants someone to hurt, to feel the way she does, to understand.

“You know, I’m actually impressed, Byers,” she said. “I knew you were a queer, but I didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to steal someone’s boyfriend.”

“You’re just a sleazy little fuck, just like your father,” Stevie continues, venom in her voice now. “A nasty, pathetic screw-up.”

“That whole house is filled with screw ups,” Tommy chimes in. If he wants a fight, Stevie’s not going to stand in the way. “Your mom, your dad, and I’m not even surprised about your brother. I mean, we all know what you did to him.”

Nathan hisses at Tommy, tells him to watch his goddamn mouth. Nate. That stupid little nickname bounces around her head, rips through her thoughts like a bullet. She flinches a little at Tommy’s words.

Talking shit about Jonathan is one thing, but his mom is a nice lady. When Stevie was little, she used to keep a sticker book by the register at Melvald’s. She’d give Stevie flowers and suns and stars, and sometimes she’d hunt through the book to find one she thought Stevie might like.

“The whole goddamn family is a fucking disgrace, man,” Tommy laughs. “Bet he fucking loved it, though, baby Byers, when you—”

Jonathan Byers really does have balls because he slams his fist into the side of Tommy’s face, a horrific snarl on his face. Stevie jumps a little at the impact, and that’s all it takes for Carol to yank her back, for Evan and Peter to leap in, for Nathan to throw himself into the fray.

Jason wavers like a scared little kid, like he wants into the fight, but he also wants to run. For a moment, it looks like Nathan and Byers are losing, but then Byers shoves Peter right into the brick, scraping his face against it before leaping back onto Tommy, pummeling his face in.

“Oh my god,” Carol gasps. “Oh, god, stop!”

Evan tries to jump back in, but Nathan grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him away, sending him knocking into Jason, like bowling pins. Stevie feels like she slams back into her body, like she’s alive again.

Nathan’s knuckles are bloody, a bruise blooming on the side of his face. Jonathan’s mostly fine, actually, save for where Tommy got a good hit on his jaw. Carol’s screaming now, and Tommy…

Once, when she and Tommy were little, they’d ridden bikes around the neighborhood, up the hill in Lock Nora, and over to the staircase that led to the park. Tommy tried to jump his bike down the stairs, but he’d messed up, ended up in a heap at the bottom of the concrete, a mess of bike, blood, and boy. He’d howled something fierce and Stevie took off like a shot, racing all the way back to the Hagan’s and grabbed Roger.

Jonathan’s still on him, so Stevie shrieks at Jason to do something. Evan and Peter took off once they realized that Jonathan Byers fought for blood, like it was life or death. Jason just stood there like a complete moron, so Stevie grabs him, shoves him forward, screaming at Jonathan to let go, come on, just get go, let him up!

Nathan’s trying to do the same, panic in his eyes at the level of blood on Jonathan’s hands, on Tommy’s face.

Siren’s blare, flashes of lights, and Jason takes off, the pathetic little coward. Nathan manages to get Jonathan off just as the cops descend. Stevie and Carol are fast, hauling Tommy up between them and racing off.

Stevie doesn’t stop until they get to her car, where she and Carol dump him into the back seat. She takes them straight to her place, and thankfully, Tommy’s most awake now, only a little bleary.

“Jesus,” Carol says, helping him into the house. She and Stevie sit him in the kitchen, and she rushes to grab the first aid kit while Carol works on clearing away the blood. “Byers tore you to shreds!”

“Why’d you say all that shit about his family, man?” Stevie asks, passing the bottle of rubbing alcohol to Carol. “Will just died, like two days ago.”

“I was right,” Tommy grumbles. “And what do you care? You said yourself—”

“He was just a kid!” Stevie snaps. “Why do you always take things so goddamn far?”

“What the fuck are you yelling at me for?” he asks, incredulous. “Your fucking boyfriend gets with Jonathan Byers of all people, and I’m the bad guy?”

“It’s not about that—”

“Oh my god, are you still so fucking pathetic for Nathan—”

“Shut the fuck up, Carol!”

“Do not talk to her like that!”

“You're a stupid little bitch, you know that?” Stevie snarls, ignoring Tommy. “I’m pathetic? You’re Tommy’s little whore, you just go along with whatever he says. If I hadn’t introduced you two, you’d be some other asshole, licking his shoes!”

Carol’s face goes red, her hands balling into fists. Her eyes go a little glassy too, but Stevie refuses to feel bad about that. There’s some quiet voice in the back of her head that begs her to shut the fuck up, the one that knows that she’s the one taking it way too far now, aiming to hurt without caring what’s true.

Still, today’s fight had been Carol’s fault. She didn’t care about how Stevie felt, not really, she just wanted to watch the spectacle without having some pathetic girl sobbing onto her shoulder. After today, Stevie realizes Carol doesn’t actually give a fuck about anyone, she just wants a show, some entertainment because she’s always bored out of her fucking mind.

“You are pathetic. You let some fag do whatever he wanted to you, and you still want him back,” Carol hisses, voice shaking. “If we weren’t here, you’d be back with Nathan, begging for a turn to suck him off, after Jonathan was done.”

“You know what, this was between me, Nathan, and Jonathan. I should’ve never gotten you guys involved—” Stevie snaps, trying desperately to keep her voice steady, to will the rising lump in her throat away.

“Let’s not pretend you can do a damn thing without us,” Tommy snarls. “I’ve been taking care of you since you were a goddamn kid—”

“Get the fuck out,” Stevie says, her voice finally slipping into that same steady, icy tone. “You don’t take care of me, you’re not my dad, you’re not my boyfriend—”

“Yeah.” Tommy stands abruptly, grabbing Carol’s hand. “Let’s go, we’re done.”

For a long time after the door slams, Stevie just leans against the kitchen counter, breathing hard and trying desperately not to cry. They’re supposed to be best friends, but all they think is that she’s a pathetic little girl who needs saving, but hey, at least she has a cool house for parties, a kickass pool, and plenty of beer money.

Chapter Text

Stevie’s not sure she should’ve expected more from Carol. She’s always been a bitch, always catty and quick with a cutting remark. She has no idea what to do with the good moments, Carol’s rare kindness, but that’s all it had been fleeting and conditional. The second Stevie stopped being what Carol expected, she switched on a dime.

Tommy though, he’s definitely not the same little boy Stevie grew up with, the one she counts as family. Her Tommy would never say something so vile to a dead kid’s grieving brother, especially when everyone knew the truth, that it had just been a tragic accident.

Truthfully, Stevie doesn’t give a damn if Jonathan and Nathan were gay. That’s their own business, and it’s not like men being with other men actually hurts anyone.

She’s mostly mad at Nathan anyways, that he let it get that far with her and Jonathan both. He’s the liar who couldn’t make up his fucking mind.

Stevie ends up driving back into town; she can’t stand being in that empty goddamn house by herself a second longer. All she does is look around the room and think, there is no one who loves me.

She parks in the main square and just sort of wanders until she ends up back in front of Hawkins Cinema, where the manager and the ticket booth guy—a kid she knows vaguely from school—are scrubbing away at the spray paint.

“Need a hand?” she calls. The manager glares down at her, bucket and rag clutched in his gnarled hand.

“Is this your handiwork, young lady?” he asks.

“I just want to help,” she says. It is her fault, in a way. The manager sighs, climbing back down.

“Have you ever been up on a ladder?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“You afraid of heights?”

“No, sir.”

“Alright,” he says finally, handing over the rag. “Frankie’s right down there, he’ll hold that ladder. Frankie, I’ll manage the booth and usher while you two get this done.”

The scrubbing clears her mind, honestly, the constant motion of it, the routine of scrub-scrub-scrub-dip-scrub-scrub-scrub drains the confusing swirl of emotion until all that left is guilt.

She involved the entire goddamn town in a conversation between just her and Nathan, and maybe Jonathan. At best, people will talk, whisper behind their backs. Stevie shudders to think what the worst-case scenario would be. The rest of this needs to be just them.

Frankie, the kid holding the ladder, doesn’t really talk to her, but when she comes down that final time, he gives her a curious look.

“I know you didn’t write that,” he says quietly. “Tommy H. did, right?”

“It doesn’t matter who wrote it,” she says tiredly. “It shouldn’t have been up there in the first person.”

“Is it true? You know, what Wheeler is a—”

“Why do you want to know?” Stevie asks, unable to stop a little ice from slipping back into her tone. “You want a chance with him?”

“What?” the kid sputters. “No, no, I’m not—”

“Then it’s none of your business,” she snaps. Frankie shuts up then, eyeing her nervously.

“So, are you single—”

“Shut up, Frankie.”

She drives around for a while after that too, until the sun sets, but that guilt doesn’t abate. She wants to talk to Nathan, to beg for answers and apologize, but she also wants to see him on his knees, telling her that he loves her, that he’s sorry, that he wants to be with her.

The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she needs to talk to Jonathan first. She wants to ask about the pictures, yell at him about that, apologize for Tommy and everything he said. She wants to apologize for what she said too. She wants to ask him if he’s in love with Nathan, if he’d been jealous of her, if just thought this was the only chance he’d ever get.

The Byers’ house isn’t hard to find; she’d passed it a few times when she used to ride around with her dad while he looked at different land to develop.

It’s creepy, sort of, the run-down house, the half-rusted cars in around. No actual driveway, just gravel and flattened, yellowed grass. Stevie takes a few long deep breaths before she hesitantly makes her way to the porch. The first knock goes unanswered, and the second, but she can see lights on, Jonathan’s car in the driveway.

“Jonathan?” she calls, knocking more insistently now. “It’s Stevie! It’s just me, I want—I wanna talk, just figure shit out—”

She doesn’t expect the door to wrench open the way it does and she definitely doesn’t expect Nathan there.

“Nathan!”

“Stevie? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I just want to talk to Jonathan—what’s going on?”

“You need to leave right now,” Nathan says sharply. There’s Christmas lights everywhere, and over Nathan’s shoulder, she can see Jonathan, wide-eyed and pale, clutching a baseball with fucking nails protruding from it, knuckles stark-white.

“I’m not here to fight, it’s just me, I just want to talk—”

“Nate,” Jonathan says, head whipping around as the lights begin to flicker. Nathan lets go of the door for a second and Stevie shoulders her way in, just needing to understand for one—

“What is that,” she asks, spying the bandages on Nathan’s palm, already blooming bloody. “Is that from the fight?” There are matching bandages on Jonathan’s palm too.

“Stevie, you need to leave!” Nathan yells. “Get out!”

“Nathan!” Jonathan yelps. “The lights—the light!”

And then the world stops making sense.

Something claws its way out of the wall, a creature with mottled gray skin and a maw that opens up like a flower from hell. The scream that tears out of her throat is raw and painful, a physical force that sends her stumbling back into Jonathan.

Nathan produces a gun—terrifying, almost as much as that thing—and unloads an entire clip into it, but it doesn’t so much as flinch, bear down towards them until it’s inches away, and suddenly it’s on the ground. And it can move.

“Shit!”

“Fuck, come on, move!”

Someone grabs her wrist, yanks hard enough to hurt, pulling her down the dark hallway.

“Move, move!”

“Jump!”

Stevie just does, follows the boys exact movements, right on their heels. Her heart pounds like it’s trying to rip its way out of her chest. She slams into Nathan, bouncing and stumbling right into Jonathan, who catches her shoulders, shoves her behind him.

The lights dim, settle back into normal, and if she ignores the million lamps in this bedroom, it could be like nothing happened.

“What was that?” Stevie asks, then yells it again when neither boy answers. “Someone explain to me what’s going on right now!”

“Shut up!” both boys yell at her, looking around wildly, watching the lamps. The boys make their way back to the living room slowly, their weapons held aloft. The smell suddenly hits Stevie: gasoline. There’s a dark trail all over the carpet, a bear trap, a yo-yo.

“This is crazy,” Stevie mutters. It’s the only thing that comes out of her mouth. Nathan and Jonathan discuss lowly, huddling close, nearly back-to-back. Stevie keeps repeating it, louder and louder until she’s right next to boys, frantic and shaking.

“Listen to me,” Nathan says, grabbing her arms. “It’s going to come back—”

“What is that—”

“It’s going to come back,” he all but hisses. “So, you need to leave, now.”

‘What?” Nathan lets go of her, pulling out another clip from his pocket. He reloads the gun like he’s been doing it his whole life. He looks older, surer, like he could take that thing on singlehandedly and come out on the other side standing on its corpse.

“Go, now!” he says. “Right now!”

He shoves her towards the door and lets herself be propelled out of the door, then full-on sprints to her car. Her hands tremble around her keys and she drops them twice before she gets the car unlocked.

The lights flicker, then burn bright, almost blinding.

She knows what that means. Stevie stands stock-still, almost frozen in place. That strange, out-of-body feeling comes back, like it’s not her body. That makes it easier, in a way.

She takes off running back into the house, bursts into the house just as Nathan burns through the last of his spare clip and that thing leaps on top on Jonathan, who’s trying to keep it at bay with his bare goddamn hands.

“Hey!” It doesn’t feel like it was her who screamed that. It doesn’t feel like her who picks up the bat and starts swinging, feeling the bat stick where the nails sink into that things flesh. It’s not her that backs that thing up towards the bear trap, swinging again and again, ignoring the boys screaming her name.

“It’s in the trap!”

“Move!”

Someone pulls her back and then smoke fills the narrow hallway, the burn of it fills her throat. That thing screams, a horrific, deeply inhuman sound. It goes up in a wicked bright burn. The blaze lasts less than a minute, and then there’s nothing, just smoke and burnt carpet.

“Where is it?”

“It’s dead, right?”

“It’s got to be dead!”

“The lights!” Steve cries as one of the strings lit up in almost a straight path.

“Wait,” Jonathan says, holding his arm out. “It’s not… Mom?”

They follow the string of lights as they slowly light the path to Will Byers bedroom, pausing at the sprung bear trap and ruined carpet.

“They’re looking for Will,” Jonathan murmurs, following as close as he can. “In the upside down. Mom?”

Stevie wants to ask, but she stays quiet, waiting for the others. The lights blink back the way they came, back to the door, then snuff out. For a long while, the three of them stare at the door, waiting. The Christmas lights stay off, only the dim glow of the corner lamp left.

“I think…” Jonathan starts. “I don’t think it’s coming back.”

Stevie takes a long breath, relief trickling into her slowly, like it’s uncertain, like she can’t quite believe Jonathan. She doesn’t have a choice, though, so she puts her trust in the steadiness of his voice, the give of his shoulders.

Chapter Text

“It’s not dead,” Nathan says, shaking his head, dashing whatever hope and relief Stevie felt. “It’s hurt, definitely, and I think we did buy Hopper and your mom some time, but I have this feeling, I don’t think it’s dead.”

“What was it?” Stevie finally asks. Nathan jumps a little, like he forgot she was there.

“We called it the Demogorgon,” he explains. “It’s… never mind, you—you came back.”

“I saw the lights,” she explains, a little helpless. “That thing, it was coming back and I didn’t want to just leave you guys to—”

Nathan kisses her. Full on the mouth. A hard, bruising kiss, teeth smashing, and it should be bad, but it’s so good, it’s so good, and a little moan wrings out of her, despite herself.

“You came back,” he pants into her mouth. “To help us.”

“I’m sorry,” Stevie says hurriedly. “About everything, about that stupid sign, and Jonathan! God, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“It’s not what you thought!” Jonathan says hurriedly. “We were hunting the Demogorgon, we were trying to save my brother, find Barb, and that night—”

“I got pulled into the upside down,” Nathan tells her, slipping his arm around her waist. “Where that thing lives. It’s like another dimension or something. It took Will there, and, uh, Barb. Jonathan pulled me out. I didn’t—I couldn’t be alone that night.”

“I get it,” Stevie says, because she has no idea how she’s going to sleep tonight. “God, Jonathan, I’m so sorry about Tommy. Everything he said was so fucked up. I’m sorry I ever said anything to him.”

Jonathan nods, awkward. He doesn’t quite look at them.

“I won’t let Tommy run his mouth,” she offers, but Jonathan sort of scoffs, shakes his head.

“I don’t think anyone can control him,” Jonathan says. “And whatever anyone says about me, I don’t care. It’s Will, and my mom, you know?”

“I’m sorry about that too,” she says. Jonathan shrugs one shoulder, a half-smile on his face. It’s probably the closest thing to a smile that she’ll get.

-

Stevie drives them to the hospital, the boys, and sits pressed against Nathan’s side, as close as they can get in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Nathan’s little brother is here, and his friends, all in a pile in the chairs, basically asleep. Stevie hopes to God they didn’t see that thing.

Barb didn’t make it.

Chief Hopper told Nathan that personally, and Stevie held him in the hallway as he cried onto her shoulder, soft, barely audible sobs. It’s not quite grief she feels, but maybe guilt? Regret? Just a general sadness because Barb was barely sixteen.

They spend hours in the waiting room, anxious for any scrap of news. Nathan’s parents are there too, Mr. Wheeler asleep with baby Holly on his chest. Mrs. Wheeler sits with Mike, stroking his hair. He looked devastated when she first saw him, the kind of grief that looks just wrong on a kid that young.

Nathan had quietly explained—after he’d cried himself out—about the girl named Eleven, who could find people anywhere in this world and the next, who could move things with her mind. Superpowers, who knew?

It’s nearly three in the morning when Jonathan comes back to tell the kids that Will is stable, that they can go see him. Relief floods Stevie; at least one good thing came out of this horrific night.

After Mike’s satisfied with seeing Will, the Wheeler’s take him and the rest of the kids home, leaving Nathan because he assures his mom he’ll catch a ride back with her.

“Will you stay?” Stevie asks hesitantly. She won’t be able to sleep regardless, but at least it’ll feel safer with Nathan there. And the bat she stole from Jonathan. She’s hoping he won’t ask about that, will just let her keep it, or at least forget about it.

They skip school on Monday, hole up in Stevie’s room with the bat and just talk everything out. Stevie tells him anything and everything, and he does the same. She tells him she loves him too.

“I mean it,” she whispers, pulling away from the kiss he dragged her into. “I really love you.”

“I love you, too,” Nathan tells her, his warm hands cupping her face. “Baby, I just—”

“I know,” she interrupts. No more apologies or justifications, she just wants to be with him, normal again. “You don’t have to say it.”

Nathan has to go back that afternoon, but Stevie feels lighter, less alone, even if she’s the only one in the house—her father got invited to some last-minute business dinner in Philadelphia, something he couldn’t skip, and apparently neither could her mother.

She can’t look at the pool, though.

She calls the maintenance company, gets them over to cover it, seal it up, and then she drives to the hardware store and the furniture store to get curtain rods and dark, opaque curtains. Screw her mother’s love of natural light and their stupid privacy hedge.

Despite knowing that there are kids with secret powers and monsters from other dimensions, life continues moving on. Stevie has a test in chemistry on Wednesday that she’s pretty sure she’s failed. She moves her table to sit with the other cheerleaders, who are actually a pretty decent bunch, when she’s not sitting with Nathan.

She and Jonathan aren’t friends, but she doesn’t dislike him, so she shuts Tommy down when he tries to call him a fag in the hallways or tries to start something at school. Stevie does something she’s never done before: gets teachers involved anytime she sees Tommy or any of his friends so much as eyeing Nathan and Jonathan. That puts a stop to the harassment on school grounds, anyways.

She redirects as much as she can, calling attention to the guys’ own insecurities and flaws, cutting into them about their looks, their basketball abilities, and the size of their dicks. It’s easier, yet somehow harder to slip back into that bitchy, icy persona she’s cultivated. She’s glad she has it, but at the same time, she can’t bear for Nathan to see her like that, even if it is to protect him.

Still, most people know Jonathan works at the hardware store, or that Nathan hangs out at the public library. Stevie can’t always be around, as much as she wants to.

Tommy’s cold to her, but not quite mean. Mostly he just ignores her, save for the weird looks she catches sometimes. It’s better than anyone else gets, but it cuts her deep. Some days she feels like she lost a family member, or a limb. Some days she doesn’t get out of bed.

It’s Carol that’s the real nuisance. She takes her bitchiness as far as it’ll go, calling Stevie every name in the book, spreading rumors, and sneering at Nathan and Jonathan. She hasn’t figured out how to truly hurt her, or maybe she’s not going for the gut punch. Maybe she just wants a spectacle.

If she’s not calling them freaks and queers, she’s telling everyone Stevie let both boys fuck her at the same time, that she’s a slut who’ll fuck everyone. She tells people she’s a shameless whore who tried to fuck Tommy too. She tells anyone who’ll listen that Stevie drinks constantly, that she smokes like a chimney. Hell, she tells people that Stevie fucked Eddie Munson for a discount.

Practice is mostly okay, until right before winter break, when Veronica announces that Stevie’s going to be captain next year. Carol up and stomps away, flinging her pompoms in Stevie’s face.

Some of the girls are on her side, the ones who’re scared of Veronica, but the others snicker and sneer at her more and more, maybe finally believing Carol’s rumors.

Still, she has Brenda and Heather and Heidi, and some of the younger girls too, like Chrissy. It’s almost normal.

-

Christmas break means her parents are gone again. They came back five days later than they were supposed to and fell back into the same patterns they always do.

Her dad mostly ignores her, pats her on the head every so often, hands her a twenty with his business smile and a reminder to not spend it all in one place, kitten.

Her mom buys her new clothes from boutique shops in the cities that are far too tight, so Stevie’s relegated to steamed veggies for dinner for the two weeks her parents are still there. At least she logs in a ton of miles.

The Harrington’s went to Nana and Pop-pop’s in Ohio for thanksgiving, where she was thankfully safe. Nana loves her but hates her mother, so Stevie was actually allowed to eat.

Stevie’s nearly going out of her skin with her parents in the house, so she’s actually pretty thankful when they sit her down and tell her she should drive up to Nana and Pop-pop’s for Christmas by herself, because they’re going to Aruba. Stevie scoffs: like a little sun will fix the bleak, gaping black hole that is their sham of a marriage.

Nathan invites her to spend Christmas Eve with his family, to make pies and cookies with his mom and sister, and to watch the Christmas TV specials. Dorky as it is, she loves Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, and Santa Clause is Coming to Town.

She and Nathan go shopping the day before in the big department store two towns over. He still needs presents for his parents and is contemplating a pair of frankly tacky cufflinks when she sees it.

“Nathan! Look,” she says, shaking his shoulder. It’s a camera that looks almost the same as Jonathan’s, the one she smashed. He apologized for the pictures after school one day, red-faced and unable to look her in the eye. She’d forgiven him, figuring if Nathan did, then so would she. After all, the pictures weren’t about her.

She buys it on impulse, ignoring Nathan’s protests that it was too expensive, that he should pitch in half at least, but she breezes right past those, writing out a check with flourish and paying a little extra to have it wrapped up nice.

She doesn’t actually plan to see Jonathan on Christmas Eve, but Nathan grabs her as he’s walking his little brother out the door, and gives him the present with a smile.

“Oh, I didn’t bring anything for you, you guys,” Jonathan mumbles, a blush overtaking his face.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Nathan says. “Actually, it was Stevie’s idea.”

Jonathan does look up then, wide-eyed, and then to her surprise, smiles. He’s pretty good-looking like that, so flying right on impulse, Stevie rocks up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Mistletoe,” she says when Jonathan gapes at her. Then, because she’s kind of regretting it now, she stoops to press a kiss to Will’s cheek too. The brothers look exactly the same, bright red faces, brown bowl cuts, and matching gray coats.

“Where’s mine?” Nathan jokes, giving her that easy boyish smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s close enough. Stevie will take it.

“I’ll kiss you for real when we’re not in front of company,” she says coyly, shooting him a little wink. Nathan laughs, then walks the Byers’ out. She kisses him the way she wants to when they’re alone in the foyer together, giggling like a kid when he drags her to the sofa to snuggle in with his little sister and watch those dorky Christmas specials she loves so much.

It's perfect. It’s completely normal.