The middle school parking lot was buzzing with activity—parents dropping their kids off, some parking to wait out the night, others flying out of the parking lot to take advantage of their night off. Hopper pulled right past the school doors and drove around to the back of the parking lot. He found a secluded spot in the shadows to stop the car, killed the engine, then turned to Eleven with a grave expression.
"Okay, ground rules: you stay with your friends. Don't wander off, don't talk to anyone you don't know, don't talk about yourself. If anyone asks, your name is Jane and you're here because you're friends with Mike. Leave it at that and let him take it from there. Do not let anyone take your picture—"
"Except Jonathan," Christine butted in. "He'll be at the photo booth, and Nancy's volunteering too, if you need anything."
"Fine," Hopper said tersely, "no pictures from anyone except Jonathan. The last thing I need is some school reporter putting your face in the paper and letting everyone know you're still in Hawkins."
"Okay," El agreed. "No pictures, no alone, no talking."
"No, you can—look, you can talk to people if you want to—don't just stand there and say nothing—just don't tell anyone about yourself. Ask questions, talk about the music, that kind of stuff."
That didn't seem to clarify anything for Eleven, so Christine leaned forward again. "Just stay with the party, okay? If anyone talks to you, you'll have them for backup. If there's one thing Dustin can do, it's derail a conversation. And if you need to go to the bathroom, ask Max to go with you."
"Yes!" Hopper agreed, brandishing a finger at El. "You ask Max, and only Max."
"The bathroom…?" El was looking more confused by the second. "But, what about 'privacy?'"
"Well, it's a school bathroom so…" Christine trailed off, struggling to explain the concept of privacy in a public bathroom. "Look, it's normal for girls to go together. Just take Max and you'll be okay."
Eleven nodded, but she now looked much more nervous than she had when they'd left the cabin. She stared across the parking lot at the school, fiddling with her bracelet again.
"Hey," Hopper said, much softer this time. "It's gonna be fine. Just…go have fun and…enjoy it. Okay?"
"Okay." Eleven leaned across the console and grabbed Hopper's hand off the steering wheel. "Thank you."
If he hadn't been teary-eyed before, he certainly was now. Christine averted her gaze as he cleared his throat and patted El's hand.
"Yeah, sure thing, kid. Just…be careful."
"I will," she promised.
Christine waited a few more seconds out of respect before leaning forward to catch El's eye. "Shall we?"
El's nod was more confident this time, and she slipped out of the truck so Christine could climb forward. She expected Hopper to accompany them, but he stayed firmly in the driver's seat and waved them on ahead, most likely so he had time to collect himself. Christine nodded back at him and took Eleven by the hand before they headed for the building.
It was nearly eight o'clock, so there were less people milling around than there had been before. One or two teachers had stepped out to the parking lot for a smoke break, but most of the students were already inside. Christine led the way around to the gym, peeked through the door, then turned back to Eleven.
"Alright, here's your ticket," she said, fishing the paper out of her bag. "I'm gonna go in first and talk to Mr. Clarke. Wait a few seconds and then, while I'm still talking to him, you come in, hand him the ticket, say 'thank you,' and keep walking. No one's gonna stop you if you look like you know where you're going."
El accepted the slip of paper, scanning it over a few times, but not replying. She picked at the corner with her thumbnail and swayed anxiously on her feet.
"You okay?" Christine asked, though she already knew the answer.
"What if…they don't like me?"
"Who? The party?"
"No. The people." Eleven looked up from the ticket, her eyes full of fear. "You said that, at the Snow Ball, people stared at you. That you looked weird. What if people think I'm weird?"
Christine softened. Eleven's perspective had always baffled her, because it was never what she expected. When they'd first met, Eleven hadn't known what rock music was, or how to tell time, or how to speak in full sentences. She hadn't understood that most people changed clothes in private and sometimes didn't say what they were really thinking. And yet somehow, she'd still learned about being pretty, feeling shame and insecurity. Christine wished that growing up at the lab had spared her that.
Christine leaned down and placed a hand on each of El's shoulders, prompting her to look up.
"You are not weird," Christine promised. "You're not weirder than anyone else in there. And one good thing about living with Hopper? It doesn't matter what any of these people think of you, because you're not gonna see them again for a while. You'll see us," she added, when El's face fell, "I promise. Seriously, you're not gonna be able to get rid of Mike once he knows where you live, and I'll come to visit all the time. You just don't need to worry about all these boring people who don't know the truth about Hawkins, all the..."
"Mouthbreathers?" El suggested, making Christine snort.
"Yeah, sure. The mouthbreathers. Just go in, find Mike, and have fun, okay? I'll be right outside."
Christine tapped her chest in their usual goodbye and, when El repeated the motion, she seemed a little more sure of herself. She held tight to the ticket and stood up tall, taking a deep breath and standing next to the door. Christine smiled and kissed the top of her head before walking into the building.
The Snow Ball was much more…elaborate than Christine remembered it being. There couldn't have been this many decorations when she was in middle school. The gym seemed to be a solid wall of white, silver, and blue streamers, dotted with balloons and fancy table cloths. The décor spilled out into the hallway, where a large Christmas tree glittered next to the check in table. As she'd expected, Mr. Clarke sat behind it, checking things off on a clipboard.
"Hi, Mr. Clarke!"
"Christine!" He smiled brightly when he spotted her and put his work aside. "You seem a little underdressed, if you don't mind me saying."
"I feel it," Christine chuckled as she peeked into the gym. "Was it really always this fancy? I feel like ours was kinda lame."
"Underfunded," Mr. Clarke supplied as an alternative. "But, yes, they've definitely upped their game this year. I don't have any proof that it's coming out of the art budget, but…"
He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially and Christine nodded along. "I wouldn't put it past them. One thing's for sure, they're not cutting it from—"
"—the sports department," they finished together in laughter.
Right on cue, the school doors opened again. El walked quickly toward the table, holding up her ticket and saying "thank you" before she'd even handed it over. Mr. Clarke took her nervousness in stride and added her slip to the basket.
"You can go ahead, miss," he said with a smile.
El smiled too, looked up at Christine for a fraction of a second, then scurried into the gym. Mr. Clarke's eyes followed her briefly, a puzzled look crossing his face before Christine jumped in again.
"Hey, uh—do you know if Dustin already checked in?"
"Hm?" Mr. Clarke turned back to her, the unknown student forgotten. "Oh, yes! He checked in a few minutes ago—looking quite dashing, I must add."
"Yeah," Christine chuckled, "there's another one who upped their game this year."
"Oh! You know, that reminds me. He asked me to pass along a message."
"…What?" Christine narrowed her eyes. "To me?"
"Yup! He mentioned that you'd probably be coming by to check on him and instructed me to give you a secret message." Mr. Clarke leaned over the table and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "'Go find Legolas.'"
Christine promptly choked on her own spit. She coughed violently, trying to recover as fast as she could to play it off, but judging by Mr. Clarke's knowing smile, her face was already flushed with embarrassment.
"I assume you know what that means?"
"Yeah," Christine wheezed, clearing her throat. "Yeah, it means I'm gonna kill him. That's what it means."
She sent a dark look at the gym doors as Mr. Clarke laughed again. He tapped his pen on the table to regain her attention and sent her a sympathetic smile.
"Honestly, I think he's just worried about you—how much you worry about him. After everything that happened last year, it's natural you want to keep an eye on him. And then to hear about Barbara…I'm so sorry, Christine."
"Thanks," Christine muttered, shifting uneasily. "And thanks for coming to the service. She…I know she'd really appreciate it."
"Of course. It was an honor, and knowing I had a small role to play in your friendship…it's the best thing about teaching." He clasped his hands on table, the same way he'd stand at the podium during a lecture. "I just want you to remember that, even though there are a lot of bad things out there, there are good things too. If you spend too much time looking for the bad, the good can fly right by you."
Christine couldn't find it in herself to reply; if only he knew how right he was. For the past year—her paranoia, her fear, her nightmares, her insecurities—all of it had been draining her. She'd been constantly fighting all year and she wanted to believe that it was over. The Gate was closed. The lab had been shut down. Barb had been buried. Christine didn't need to spend every day worrying that Dustin would disappear or that she'd never see her father again. She wanted to believe that. She just didn't.
"I'm sorry," Mr. Clarke apologized, shaking his head at himself. "Saturday's supposed to be your day off from relentless teachers. I promise, I'm done."
"No, it's okay," Christine assured him. "I appreciate it."
"I know it's hard, Chrissy, but try not to worry too much. Dustin's a good kid, and he has a lot of good friends to look after him. If you need time to look after yourself—to 'find Legolas' or whatever else you might want to do—then you should. You deserve that."
There wasn't a graceful way to leave after that. Christine awkwardly said goodbye and, despite all Mr. Clarke's reassurances, she stole a glance through the window into the gym. It took her a minute or two, but she was able to do a full headcount. Eleven and Mike had already found each other and were swaying in the middle of the crowd. Lucas and Max were dancing nearby and Dustin, to Christine's surprise, was dancing with Nancy. Even Will had found someone to partner with, shy as he was. They had each other, and that meant that, for the moment, Christine could let herself breathe.
Turning away from the window, Christine headed straight back to the truck—the last thing she wanted was Hopper storming the gym because she hadn't reported back to him quick enough—but when she got there, she found the car empty and Hopper nowhere in sight. Christine tensed at once, then forced her muscles to relax one by one. The Gate was closed, the lab had been shut down, and Barb had been buried. Hopper had probably gone for a smoke, or to go find Joyce. Christine was sure she must be lingering around here somewhere, just as anxious as the rest of them.
Christine tugged on the passenger door, unsurprised to find it was locked. She pursed her lips, looking around the parking lot for some kind of alternative. She couldn't wait in the car, didn't want to go back inside, and knew that walking all the way home was out of the question. That left her with just one thing to do, if she could force herself to go through with it.
It took several minutes of weaving back and forth, circling the school and checking each parking lot, but eventually, Christine managed to locate Steve's car. It was one of the few that was running, exhaust trailing through the air and a soft gold light shining from inside. She could hear the hum of a bass line as she walked up, Steve's music loud enough to mask her approach. She hovered outside the car for a moment, steeled herself, then knocked on the window.
"Jesus Christ!"
Steve sat bolt upright in his seat, blinking hard to shake off his drowsiness. He was halfway through a string of curses before he realized it was Christine standing outside. She waved timidly through the glass and Steve hurriedly got out of the car.
"Hey! Chris, hi, I—I wasn't sure you were coming. Dustin said you were staying with Hopper, so I figured…"
"Yeah," Christine sighed with a bitter smile, "well, Dustin's a little shit, so…what else is new?"
Steve gaped at her for a moment, then screwed his face up in frustration. "So uh…when he asked me to hang back in case he decided to bail early…?"
"Well, that's probably half-true. I know he was really nervous about tonight, what with—"
"Max," Steve finished for her, nodding solemnly. "Yeah, he still seems pretty down about that."
"Yeah, it's pretty hard…" Christine realized what she'd said a second too late and quickly cleared her throat. "But, hey, thank you for driving him. I'm sure he feels a lot cooler rolling up in a BMW instead of his mom's car."
"Oh, yeah, of course," Steve assured her. "No problem. It was nice, you know? I helped him with his hair a little, got to pet the cat, listened to some music. It was good."
They nodded at each other, smiling awkwardly and standing a few feet apart.
Christine allowed herself a moment to look him over. It was a given that Steve looked good. His bruises had finally cleared up, his face returning to its normal, pretty state. He wasn't dressed up, exactly, but with his fitted jeans and snug maroon sweater, he still managed to make Christine feel like she was underdressed. She pulled her flannel tighter around her shoulders, folding her arms over her band tee.
"How's El?" Steve asked, scratching the back of his neck. "Hopper didn't change his mind again, did he?"
"No, he let her come. I'm sure he's spying on her through the gym window or something, but…she made it. She's in there dancing with Mike, and…she's really excited."
"Good! That's great."
He bobbed his head a few times before abruptly getting back in the car. He turned the engine off, cutting his Christmas pop song short, then reached into the backseat to dig for something else.
"Well, I—I'm glad I ran into you," he said when he reemerged, holding up a crinkled piece of loose-leaf paper. "I know you've read my admissions essay a thousand times, but uh…I made some changes and wanted to know what you thought."
"Oh, sure!"
Christine finally relaxed. Essays and grammar, she could do. Even if English was her worst school subject, she was better at it than small talk. She grabbed the paper from his hands and made herself comfortable against the Beemer, leaning against the back door while Steve propped himself next to her. He seemed nervous, his knee bouncing up and down and his fingers picking at his bottom lip. Christine was tempted to tease him that he couldn't possibly have made the essay worse, but the title caught her eye before she could form the words.
Lessons in Babysitting
By Steve Harrington
She turned to Steve in confusion, but he nodded insistently to the paper. Hesitantly, Christine began to read.
There are a lot of ways to define yourself: your name, your age, your likes, your dislikes, what sports you play, which clubs you're in, what job you have. At the beginning of my senior year, I felt pretty well-defined. If someone had asked me who I was, I probably would have said, "Hi. I'm Steve Harrington and I'm 17 years old. I like good music, hanging out with my friends, and having a good time. I don't like math, meatloaf, or Meat Loaf. I'm on the Hawkins High School basketball team and the captain of the swim team. When I graduate, I want to move out of Hawkins, play basketball in college, and then go into business management."
Like I said, I felt pretty well-defined. But that was before Halloween, when I got roped into babysitting with my best friend.
My friend Christine is really good with kids. I, on the other hand, am not. The kids she takes care of have never really liked me, and I was not looking forward to spending time with them, but I didn't want to let my best friend down. I never want to be that kind of person.
Things got out of hand really quickly. We started looking after one boy, but then he invited his friend, who brought another friend, and then we ran into a couple more. By the end of the night, it was like we were trying to control a whole daycare of middle schoolers.
The whole day was exhausting. We went hiking. We built a fort. We played games like manhunt and then did more hiking. We did puzzles and made dinner, and at the end of the night, I had to deal with a bully who was trying to mess with them. It wasn't exactly a fun day.
What surprised me was that, when I woke up the next day, I felt good. Really good. I liked being able to help those kids and, even though middle schoolers are ruthless, I liked talking to them. The whole group of them were a lot smarter and a lot cooler than I gave them credit for. One of the boys even asked me for advice about a girl he liked. It felt nice to talk him through it, but in the end, I felt like he might know more about girls than I did.
The whole experience really made me think about who I am and what defines me. My age didn't make me smarter than any of those kids. Playing basketball didn't make me cooler than any of them. Away from school, hiking in the woods, I didn't feel like anything defined me at all.
Since then, I've been babysitting a lot more. But it doesn't really feel like babysitting anymore. I've learned a lot hanging out with them. Some of it is stuff like video games and movie references, but some of it is more important than that. I've learned to pay attention so I can figure out what they need. I've learned to really think about the stuff I'm doing, and where I want to go in life. I've learned that what defines you isn't just your name and your hobbies. It's what you're capable of, and what you choose to do with it.
More than school, more than sports, more than any club, hanging out with these kids has made me want to be a better person. If that boy asks me for advice again, I want to be able to say something smart, something that actually helps him. What I learned from babysitting is the way I really want to be defined.
So, hi. I'm Steve Harrington and I'm 17 years old. I like good music, hanging out with my friends, even if they're a lot younger than me. I still don't like math, meatloaf, or Meat Loaf, but I'm trying to be more open-minded. When I graduate, I want to be remembered as a good guy who tried his best and helped a lot of people.
By the time she'd finished the last sentence, Christine's face had gone blank, her mouth hanging slightly agape. Steve was still jittering next to her, even more anxious than he'd been before.
"So?" he asked hopefully. "I know it was probably stupid to start from scratch, especially after you read the other one so many times, but I thought—"
"Steve," Christine interrupted, finally looking at him. "Steve, this is great."
Steve stood up a little straighter, eyes wide. "Yeah?"
"Yes! This is amazing." She grinned down at the paper, shaking her head in disbelief as she tried to process the complete 180 he'd taken with his thesis. "I mean—okay, grammatically and structurally, there's still some stuff to work out, but this—this is really, really good work."
"It is?" Steve let out a shaky laugh, mixed in with a huge sigh of relief. "Okay, because—because I kinda thought I was going insane."
"You're not insane, Steve. This is an essay that's going to stand out to an admissions officer. Not another guy rambling about his sports career, or some kid talking about how their grandfather is their hero. This is—it's about personal responsibility and self-awareness and growth and—" Christine laughed, unable to finish the sentence. She turned around and laid the essay on the roof of the car, quickly fishing a pen out of her bag so she could circle things. "Like this part? Math, meatloaf, and Meat Loaf? That's such good alliteration, and it's also a really clever pun that just tells a little more about you, you know? I don't know if it's exactly smart to lead with how you don't like math, because you'll definitely need that in college, but if we can come up with another M word, you're golden."
"You're incredible, you know that?"
Christine's head snapped up from the page. Steve had folded his arms on top of the car, resting his head down so he could look at her. His smile was half-hidden behind his maroon sleeve, but it was still enough to make Christine's heart skip a beat.
"Steve," she said in a warning tone.
"What? That's just a fact. You're incredibly smart and, if nothing else, it's kinda incredible you haven't given up on me yet."
Christine didn't dignify that with a response, just gave him a flat look until he deflated. Steve rolled his eyes and pretended to scream into the crook of his elbow, then stood up with a dramatic sigh.
"Okay! I'm sorry. I'm done."
"Thank you." She turned back to the essay, tapping the pen against her chin. "Do you mind if I take this with me? Otherwise, I can write out my own copy. I want to get the edits back to you fast, but I've got work tomorrow and I'm staying over at Hopper's tonight. El's been bugging him about letting me sleepover and—"
"You know what? No."
Christine stopped again, turning to Steve in surprise. "No…I'm not staying with Hopper…?"
"No, I'm not sorry." Steve folded his arms over his chest in defiance. "I'm done apologizing for shit when I'm being serious. I think you're incredible. Deal with it."
Christine's lips moved feebly, trying and failing to find the words to a response. After gaping at him like a beached fish for a few moments, she cleared her throat and fixed her eyes on the paper.
"Well…thank you. I appreciate it."
"Seriously?" She didn't need to look at Steve to know how high he'd raised his eyebrows. "I say you're incredible, and that's what you come back with?"
"I…I don't know what you want me to say, Steve."
She could practically hear Steve's teeth grinding together as he stared at her. She knew she was being difficult, and a part of her felt bad, but the other part was so terrified that it paralyzed her. The paranoia and the nightmares were enough; she couldn't risk losing another friend.
"Four."
Steve's voice prompted Christine to look up again, brow furrowed. "Four…what?"
"Four times," he elaborated, holding up his fingers. "I've seen you four times since El closed the Gate."
"Oh, come on—Steve, you know that's not true. I see you every day in—"
"How many times do I need to tell you that school doesn't count?! You have to see me at school!"
"I really don't," Christine laughed bitterly. "Believe it or not, I don't need to spend study hall with you. That's something I choose to do."
"And the only reason you haven't stopped is because you know it would look weird," Steve countered. "Chrissy, I've seen you four times since the Gate closed: once at the arcade—which was an accident—once at Barb's funeral, once when I came to The Hawk with my parents, and right now. That's it."
"What is your point, Steve?"
"My point is that you're avoiding me."
"What? I—no!" Christine spluttered, which did not help solidify her argument. "I haven't—Steve, I'm not avoiding you. I've just been busy. I've been trying to make time for El, and Hopper has her doing schoolwork, so I'm helping her with that. Dustin's still heartbroken about Max and—and it's not like we hung out all the time anyway!"
"Well, we definitely hung out more than twice a month."
"…Two and two-thirds…"
Steve cocked an eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"
"It hasn't actually been two months," Christine defended weakly. "It's been a month and a half, so…that averages out to two and two-thirds…"
"Right. Well, thanks for that. I really needed that clarification." He slouched back against the car, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Please just…I don't know how I managed to screw this up."
"You didn't, Steve, I'm—"
"Then why do I feel like I'm losing you here?"
He looked up at her with pleading eyes, and for a moment, his gaze reminded her of Eleven—looking right through her to the parts she didn't want to show anyone else.
Christine picked guiltily at the cuffs of her flannel and turned to lean her shoulder against the door.
"You haven't done anything wrong," she said softly. "Like, at all. It's just that—we've been through so much this year. Everything's changed so fast and—and you've been really great the whole time and I can't thank you enough, but…it's only been a month since you broke up with Nancy. And I know you keep saying that you knew it was coming, but that doesn't help me feel—it doesn't make me any less scared. I don't want you to like me because I'm convenient, you know? Just because I like you…"
"You wanna know why I like you?"
Christine didn't even have the strength to nod as Steve turned toward her. He reached over for the essay, holding it up for her to see before tossing it carelessly into the driver's seat. Then he closed the door and leaned against it mirroring her posture with his shoulder against the car.
"Christine, I like you because you care. Not just about me," he added before she could intervene, "about everybody. Like—sure, I'd be failing half my classes without you and I probably would've lost my mind ages ago if we weren't friends—but you know who else you do that for? Nancy. God, she probably would've gone nuts and gotten arrested if she didn't have you to talk to."
"Well, she nearly got arrested anyway, so I don't think I'm exactly setting the bar for friendship."
"Okay, what about the party? You know, most kids don't actually like hanging out with their babysitter."
"I'm not actually their babysitter."
"Chrissy, that's my point!" Steve laughed. "All of them just like you. Eleven completely idolizes you. Max has only known you for a couple weeks, and she can't stop talking about you either. You know Lucas has gotta be smarter than I am, because he's been obsessed with you forever. You always take the time to check up on Will, or Mike—even though he's a grumpy little shithead, and—God, Dustin?! Ten minutes with that kid and I could tell exactly how much time you spend together."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Christine snapped, which only made Steve grin.
"It means that he's creepy smart and absolutely hilarious. His brain works faster than should be humanly possible, he doesn't hesitate to call people out on their shit, and even when he's being really stupid—like adopting a Demodog or meddling in your personal life—you know his heart's in the right place. He's just like you."
Christine shifted uncomfortably, turning away from Steve so her back was against the car and she wouldn't have to look at him quite so much. "I don't meddle in your personal life…"
"No, you don't," he agreed. "You just jump into different dimensions to save kids. You run headlong at secret government bases without any kind of plan just in case someone you care about's in danger. You ignore any kind of attention because, for some reason, you think you're this selfish person, when you're actually one of the most selfless people I know."
Steve reached for her arm, gently pulling her back to face him. When Christine didn't look up, he ducked down lower to catch her eye.
"Do you want me to keep going?"
"No," Christine mumbled, which Steve ignored.
"I like you because you make me better. You make me want to be better. I've watched you go from this shy little nerd to—to a badass who can take out a guy twice her size. You're a genius who knows how to explain things to me without making me feel like an idiot. You always know what to say when I'm upset, and somehow you manage to make me laugh even when you're not trying. And even if I do like you because you like me, why is that a bad thing? I like the way you make me feel, and I want to make you feel the same way. Isn't that the whole point of a relationship?"
Christine was starting to feel dizzy. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to stop the word 'relationship' from ping-ponging around her brain at the speed of light; it was very disorienting.
It seemed like the world was spinning, and when Steve brought his hand up to caress her arm, she couldn't tell if her surroundings were speeding up or slowing down.
"Chrissy," Steve said softly. He waited until she opened her eyes again to give her a tiny smile. "Look, I—I get why you're scared, but…I like all that stuff about you whether or not we're together. You're my best friend and…I miss you. So if you need to take things slow, or—or if you want to forget the whole thing altogether, then fine. I'll shut up if it means we can hang out again. But can you please stop glaring at me every time I compliment you? Because I really want to talk about how awesome my best friend is."
She snickered before she could stop herself and heard Steve join in. It was a few more seconds before she could compose her face and look up at him, meeting his smirk with one of her own.
"That was a pretty good speech," she commended.
"Thanks. I've been thinking about it for a while. You like it?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Good. I think I worked on it longer than the essay, so…" Christine swatted him in the chest, making him laugh. "Come here."
Cautiously, he pulled Christine into a hug and, just as cautiously, she sank into it. She rested her chin on his shoulder, savoring the warmth and softness of his sweater. This time, when she closed her eyes, she wanted to be disoriented. She wanted to forget where they were, what time it was, everything that had happened to them. She wanted to focus on the way Steve's arms felt around her waist, the way his breath caught in her hair, the way he smelled like hairspray and cologne. For a moment, she wanted it to be just the two of them.
"So…we're still friends?" she asked at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Yeah." Steve's chuckle rumbled in his chest. "We're still friends, Chris."
"Okay. And…that means no kissing, right?"
Steve pulled out of the hug immediately, eyes wide. "What?"
"If we're just friends," Christine said haltingly, "then…then we don't kiss."
"Well, I definitely didn't—do you—is kissing an option?"
"No," she said at once, too quickly for it to be the truth.
Steve raised an eyebrow, leaning in with interest. "But…?"
Christine bit her lip, already cursing herself in her head. There shouldn't have been a "but." There wasn't supposed to be a "but."
But…it had been a month and a half since the Gate closed, a month and a half since Steve had tested the waters and asked if he could kiss her. Christine had said no, and she knew it had been the right choice. She didn't regret it, but that didn't mean she hadn't been thinking about it ever since. Even if it was a bad idea, even if things didn't work out, even if it was a one-time thing—at least she'd spare herself another month and a half lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and imagining.
Christine cleared her throat and stood up a bit straighter, trying to collect herself. "Well, what if we just…tried it?"
"Tried…kissing?" Steve asked for clarification.
"Yeah. Just once. One kiss. That way we don't need to wonder about it anymore, you know? We kissed, we tried it, and if we don't like it then we can just…move on."
"Okay," he said slowly. "And…what if we do like it?"
"Then…we worry about that later."
Christine was hyperaware of the way her body was vibrating, and it only got worse as Steve inched closer to her. She stared directly at the neckline of his red sweater, reminding herself to breathe, doing her best not to pass out.
"And…you're sure about this?" Steve asked.
"Y—mhm." The word caught on her tongue as Steve's hand brushed her cheek, cradling her head and tipping her chin up to look at him. His eyes still seemed uncertain, so she used the last of her brain power to force out, "Yeah, I'm…I'm sure."
All certainty left her the moment Steve's eyes dropped down to her lips. She wasn't wearing any makeup. She wasn't even wearing chapstick. How long ago had she brushed her teeth? She should probably stop breathing now, just in case, because if her breath was so bad he backed out then things would be weird and there wouldn't be any way to go back—
Steve's hands moved to her waist, his fingers grazing along the shirt under her flannel. Even Christine's mind went blank and she froze, in a suspended state of animation, waiting…
The next thing she knew, her feet had left the ground and everything was spinning.
"Wha—AH! Steve!" Christine scrambled to hold onto his back, terrified of toppling over his shoulder as he scooped her up and spun her around. "Steve, stop! Jesus!"
"Okay! Alright, sorry," he laughed as he placed her back on her feet. He grabbed her hips again before she could stomp off, grinning down his nose at her. "Just relax, okay? If you're freaking out neither of us will like it."
"Right," she scoffed, but it was so breathy that it barely sounded like a word. "Well, that's easy for you to say, King Steve. You had your first kiss years ago."
"I know that, which why I know that it's better if…" Steve's sentence trailed off, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "What?"
"Oh, don't do that," Christine groaned as she rolled her eyes. "Don't act like you're surprised that I haven't—"
"You were gonna kiss Billy."
Christine was the one who stopped short this time. "What?"
"You were gonna kiss Billy," Steve repeated blankly, "when we were at the Byers' house and you went outside."
"Steve," she said in disbelief. "Billy was ready to beat the shit out of Lucas. I was trying to distract him."
"You were gonna have your first kiss with Billy?!"
"It wouldn't have counted if—"
"Yes, it would!"
"I'm sorry!" she shouted back. "God, I'm so sorry that I was more focused on protecting the kids and fighting the Demodogs and closing the Gate than whether or not my first—"
Steve was kissing her before she could finish.
Christine gasped against him and might've jumped back in shock, but one of Steve's hands still had ahold of her waist. The other cupped the side of her face, angling her head so he could kiss her properly—as properly as you could kiss someone standing stiff as a board. Steve pulled back just far enough to murmur her name, nudged her nose gently with his own and—finally—Christine followed his lead.
It wasn't elaborate, but it didn't need to be. Just the feeling of Steve's lips against hers was enough to take her breath away. Once she'd relaxed, it was easier for him to guide her, his mouth moving slowly and precisely against hers until she could follow along. Her lips chased his when he pulled away, and he blinked down at her with wide, brown eyes.
"So, uh…did…was that okay?"
Christine could only stare as his tongue darted anxiously across his lips. Lips she had just been kissing. Lips that had just been kissing her. It took considerable effort to pull her gaze up to his eyes, nervously watching her for a reaction, darting around her face for clues. Nervous. It was Steve and he'd kissed her and he looked nervous.
She took a shaky breath, then said the only thing she could think of.
"Fuck."
Christine seized him and pulled his face back to hers with so much vigor, she nearly toppled them both over. Steve hummed against her mouth in surprise and grabbed her hips to steady himself, but Christine was too focused to register any of it. She was trying to memorize the feel of his skin as she ran her thumbs over his cheekbones, the taste of his lips as they slid over hers, the fleeting brush of his teeth as she pulled him too close. Her hands slipped behind his head, carding her fingers through his stupidly soft hair, and the noise Steve made against her mouth was something she wanted to hold onto for the rest of her life. Smiling made it harder to kiss him, but at that point, she was beyond caring.
It was harder to pull away the second time. Christine was out of breath and practically hanging on Steve for support, her legs too shaky to hold her weight. Even as she lowered her hands down his shoulders, his chest, she could see that her fingers were trembling. Steve wasn't nearly as unsteady, but he still looked a bit dazed. The way his ruffled hair stuck up, Christine had to restrain herself from grabbing him again.
"O-okay," Steve said after he caught his breath. "So uh…I'm pretty sure that was more than one kiss."
Christine winced, her already flushed cheeks stinging with embarrassment. "Sorry, I uh…"
"No! No, it's…that's fine. I just…yeah, I have no idea what to say right now."
They both laughed nervously, but it was easier than it had been before. Steve's hands were still resting on her hips, and Christine reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. There was a part of her that still expected him to step back, to shake her off and make some kind of excuse, but Steve just looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to take the lead.
"So," Christine said slowly. "We're friends—"
"Friends who kiss?" Steve asked, looking hopeful before she popped his bubble.
"No. I told you, that was a one-time thing."
"No, you said it would be a one-time thing if we hated it. I didn't hate it, and judging by the way you just jumped me—" Christine pinched the back of his neck, making him yelp. "Ow! Jeez, okay, sorry. Go on."
"We're friends," she repeated, more confident now that he'd tried to object. "And we'll stay friends…for now. I'm still not dating you this close to your breakup."
"Fine," Steve agreed immediately. "How long do you want to wait?"
"I don't know."
"Okay…when will you know?"
"I'm not sure," she said with a shrug. "Why, you have other plans?"
"No, I just—" Steve narrowed his eyes at her, nose wrinkled in frustration. "For the sake of my sanity, can I have an estimate?"
Christine pouted, considering him for a few seconds. "May."
"Sorry," Steve sighed, rolling his eyes, "may I have an estimate?"
"No, you—" She giggled, momentarily burying her face in his chest. "Steve, the month of May."
As she expected, Steve's jaw dropped in horror.
"May?! You want to—you kiss me like that and then expect me to wait until May?!"
"Yes, I do," she replied, fighting to stay firm. She had to ignore the way he'd said "you kiss me like that," otherwise she'd fold in a second flat. "Don't think you get to skip ahead because I've liked you for so long. I don't care how many home runs you've hit. If you don't show up to batting practice, you don't get to play the game."
"Chris, I don't—the sports metaphor is really not helping right now!"
"I'm saying you have to earn it. You can flirt with me, you can compliment me, whatever, but there's no payoff until May…if you even still like me at that point…"
Steve's face softened and Christine dropped her head, staring at the knit of his sweater again. She knew she was shooting herself in the foot here, making outrageous demands that no normal person would agree to, but she was still scared that this was a dream. It all seemed too good to be true. Steve liked her now, but eventually he'd come to his senses. Over time, the novelty would wear off and other girls would catch his eye. This way, he'd be free to go after one of them, and Christine wouldn't go through the pain of being dumped by Steve Harrington.
A finger hooked under her chin, Steve tilted her face up to look at him again. He frowned at her thoughtfully before he gave a dramatic sigh.
"Okay. You win. May. But…can I ask for one condition?" Christine tried to shrug, but the motion was so small, she was surprised Steve even noticed. "Can that one-time thing be a one-night thing? Because I really want to kiss you again, and I don't want to wait five months."
Christine bit her bottom lip and barely had time to nod before Steve was ducking down again, kissing her lip free and claiming it for himself. She sighed in contentment, standing up on her tiptoes and tightening her arms around his neck. There was no way to tell if it would last—if she would regret it tomorrow or next week or in a month—but for now, she wanted to make the most of what little time she had with Steve Harrington. She deserved that.
A/N: Aaand—scene. That wraps up the second installment of Inside Out. I can't thank you all enough for reading, for following, for messaging, for reviewing. Publishing this story has been one of highlights of my fanfic career. There's a part of me that's heartbroken to know so many of you aren't getting notifications. I'm bitter about the way this web-transition was handled, but there's nothing to be done. I hope that, whenever you do find this, that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I am working on a short series of one-shots that span the time between Seasons 2 and 3, which will hopefully tide you all over during the wait. I don't have a release date yet, so be sure to keep an eye on my profile or visit this story's Tumblr at "insideoutstory." There's also a Season 2 playlist waiting there, if any of you are wondering what songs Steve or Chrissy are listening to during this story.
The next story I'll be publishing is the rewrite of my Teen Wolf sequel...the sequel to my Teen Wolf rewrite...? Anyway, Right Beside You will begin posting on Monday December 5th. Hopefully Paramount+ gets their act together and releases the movie soon.
Again, thank you for all your kind words. Let me know what you think of the finale, the story, the future. Hopefully, we'll meet again sooner rather than later.
-Brittney