School was difficult, the whispers and gossip spreading like wild-fire after the party. By third period I had already had to face off with two of Carol's new decibels, coming up behind me in the bathrooms and asking me if it was true that I had 'finally fucked Harrington?' Only to have me tell them to 'fuck off back to hell'.

It didn't take long for me to figure out that Nancy had left with Jonathan, and that the two had then disappeared half-way through the day. I couldn't imagine how shitty Steve must have had it, everyone asking him about it, pushing him all the wrong ways.

It had been a couple days since we had spoken in the diner, mostly just going back to normal as if I hadn't spent the night at his house. I could tell he wasn't taking things well, he looked lousy, at one point he even came into school without doing his hair. I'd heard from someone in my calculus class that Steve and Nancy has been seen arguing round the back of the gymnasium, but no one seemed to know what it had been about, most people saying that she had cheated on him with 'the freak' and he was heartbroken.

Nancy was a lot of things, but I doubted she was a cheater, it didn't seem like her sort of thing.

It was a slow week, the teachers mostly just reminding us to hand in our college essays if we wanted early submission, crowds of seniors flocking to the library at all hours of the day trying to perfect theirs and get into an Ivy League. I had handed mine in a day after the deadline, earning a disappointed look from Mrs Rogers, my guidance counselor, who had been bothering me about it since the start of term. Somehow, miraculously, I had managed to fall asleep during my ap French class, getting shoved awake by Robin Buckley who sat behind me, shooting her a glare, for her to only respond mouthing 'bite me' and turning back to her notes. I still didn't even know what I was supposed to be doing with my life, why I was learning French in the first place; I had never even been to France, hardly ever been out of state.

After class had ended I decided I was done with it, planning to catch the bus that went back through town at mid-day and go home to take a nap. As I walked through the halls heading to the edge of school however, I heard something that caught my attention.

The right honorable Billy Hargrove was trying to get a rise out of Steve again, pushing him to the edge just for kicks, Tommy H stood next to him, egging him on. A total reversal of the past four years. Billy was the new kid, some scumbag from the west coast, walking around like he fucking owned the place after being here for only a week. Something about him made me think that the dude was honestly a straight up psychopath, obsessing over this superficial rivalry like it made him better or something, like being the king of some stupid high school was something that actually mattered.

When I finally saw Steve up close I realised just how exhausted he looked, dark eyes swimming deep with tired emotion, looking like he hadn't slept and had been dealing with this shit all day, like he was done with it. No energy left to give.

"Speak of the devil!" Tommy had always been a loud guy, and today was no exception, drawing their attention over to me as I walked up. I heard Steve curse under his breath. He turned to him, "look, it's your bitch, Harrington!"

I scowled, cringing before turning on my heels to face him as I passed, "Hey, Tommy, I've been meaning to ask, how's Macy doing these days?" His face faltered slightly, "Carol still not know about that one?" I asked, feigning politeness. I could hear Steve snickering to himself quietly from beside him as he got something from his locker, remembering a certain party from the year prior, "I'm just saying, might be a shame if someone were to tell her about that," I finished lightly.

"You oughta learn to stay out of other people's business," Hargrove finally said, a weird, sick tilt to his voice that sounded almost like he was flirting, making my skin crawl.

"I'm sorry?" I said, turning to him, "Who the hell are you again?"

"Could ask you the same thing," he smirked, "although according to my boy Harrington here," he hit Steve's arm, "you've already got quite the reputation".

"Cut it out, man," I heard Steve say, slamming his locker shut before getting shoved back by Tommy, still taunting him.

Billy had stepped towards me, with his stupid tongue hanging out of his mouth. If it hadn't been for my better judgment holding me back I would have grabbed it and cut it off with a pair of fabric scissors.

"And what's that?" I said with my eyes narrowed, not backing down as he stepped closer to me.

"I think you know," he said back, still smirking suggestively.

"Hey, knock it off alright, this has nothing to do with her, man!" Steve was calling out louder now, stepping to him only to get pushed away by Tommy.

"You think you're real clever don't you?" I said, shaking my head and smirking back, "Think that just because you've got a pretty face and some anger issues you can run this whole town," I sang.

"Who says I can't?" He stepped forwards again, trying to intimidate me.

"News flash, asshole," I bit back louder, "you don't amount to shit! This whole town doesn't amount to shit!" He laughed at me, stepping back a little and getting a sharp glint in his eye. I almost backed down, thinking he might hit me.

"Oh really?" He he said, an evil sound to his voice.

"Yeah, really, you're fucking pathetic!" I spat, "you and your mental problems." I added, turning and walking down the hall again, hearing him laughing maniacally behind me, Tommy and Steve still sharing insults in his wake.

He was yelling as I heard hurried footsteps coming up behind me, "maybe you can pay her this time, Harrington!" I cringed, "Don't worry, I heard she's pretty cheap!" I threw hand over my shoulder, giving him the finger as I kept walking, turning towards the door.

"Fuck off, man!" Steve yelled back, running after me, rounding the corner just after I did. He grabbed my arm and spun me around, looking at me with a glare, "Y/n, what the hell?" He said, his arms dropping to his sides.

"Seriously?" I said back, looking back and forth between his eyes, "you're pissed at me? You expect me to just walk by and ignore something like that".

"I had it covered," he said exasperated.

"You had jack-shit covered!" I accused loudly.

He sighed, stepping away from me and going quiet while a group of whispering girls walked by.

After they were gone he leaned towards me again, lowering his voice, "the whole school already thinks we slept together, Y/n, you know how these people work," he finished, looking around again to check who was watching.

I scoffed, "Wow, you're really that insecure?" He furrowed his brow and looked at me like I was crazy, "Good to know!" I finished sarcastically, shoving past him to walk through the open door.

"Hey, hey! Y/n, goddamnit! Wait up!" He called back, cutting off my path, "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I tried to push him away, "It's nothing, alright, just go back to your bullshit" I snapped.

His face fell.

"Shit," I swore to myself, moving towards him, "Steve, I didn't mean it like that".

I brought a hand up to his arm and he pushed it away, "No- you're right, you're right, you're both right- " he let out, "it's bullshit, it's all bullshit!" He looked off into the middle-distance angrily with his nostrils flared, eyes still so uncharacteristically tired and sore.

"Not all of it?" I tried to comfort him, but he just gave me a look. I tried to explain myself, "Look all I'm saying is, who gives a fuck what people say or think?" I started, "Who gives a fuck about popularity? Hell, who gives a fuck about Billy fucking Hargrove!" I said, raising my voice and gesturing to the hall round the corner, catching the attention of some passers by, "We know what happened, we know who we are, so who gives a fuck about any of their shit!" I paused, lowering my voice, "you've got enough on your plate as it is." He looked at me, eyes softening.

"Yeah, easy for you to say, I've still got to play on the team with them year round," he groaned lightly, breaking the ice, and for the first time I noticed he was still wearing his gym shorts. I looked away awkwardly and nodded to the locker rooms, smiling. "Go get changed, I'll buy you a milkshake," I offered, "just us old friends".

When Steve came outside I was leaning against the hood of his car, smoking again.

"You know those things are bad for you, right?" He laughed, walking to the drivers side as I slid off and waited by the passenger door.

I scoffed, "So is everything else".

He unlocked the car and we climbed inside. Steve pausing before he put the key in the ignition, turning to me, "Are you okay, by the way? After what Hargrove said?"

I chuckled darkly, "I'm fine, he's just some asshole who doesn't know shit -" I answered turning to him, "who cares, right?" I smiled, quirking an eyebrow and continuing to smoke.

"Yeah, but it's still fucked up." He still looked like it bothered him, "I should of done something," he added, scowling to himself.

"Yeah, and got your ass kicked." he made a face that said he disagreed.

"I could of taken him," he scoffed, shaking his head. I laughed at him again teasingly and rolled my eyes. "You think we could maybe skip that milkshake?" He added, looking at me over the top of his black ray-bans that he still had from Halloween.

"Sure, why?"

"Just not not really feelin' it," He answered, turning the key and starting the engine.

"Where d'you wanna go instead?" I asked him, rolling down the window as he put his hand on the back of my head-rest, looking towards the bumper as he backed the car out of the lot.

"Uhh…" he trailed off, reversing to the road, "anywhere, honestly".

When we reached the open road he turned forwards again and hit the gas. I felt the breeze hit me through the window, sticking my arm out to make waves in the air.

"Just not here" he finished.

"We could get a burger?" I suggested turning to him again.

"I'm not hungry".

"What about…" I trailed off, thinking and clicking my teeth, "Oh! What about checking out that new place, opened up on main, they got posters and lights and stuff," He grimaced and shook his head, "Why not, could be fun?" I asked, hitting his arm.

"Went there last week with Nance, it's not that great," he groaned, turning a corner towards Madison. There was never anything to do in Hawkins. "How 'bout we just go to your place? I haven't even seen it properly since the Hawthorn's lived there anyway," He asked, waiting on me for an answer.

The Hawthorns had been a family of four who had moved out of town after kids had started disappearing the year before and they'd branded Hawkins too dangerous, selling their house for a better price than normal, thinking the town was done-for.

"Alright," I leaned my head out the window, looking up at the sky, "looks like a storm's coming anyway" I mused.

By the time we reached my house rain was battering down on the windows, raindrops dropping like stones. Even just in the short walk from car to the front door, holding my school bag over my head and struggling with the lock, the two of us were soaked. Steve's hair falling as flat as it could get and sticking to his forehead and my wool shirt like a bag of weights around my neck. I had stupidly stuck my jacket in my locker, forgetting it at lunch. We were laughing about it once we got inside, quickly running up the stairs to grab a towel for his hair and some dry clothes for the both of us. I had set Steve's jacket over a radiator, hoping it would dry and turning on the heat, before handing him a shirt.

"I'm pretty sure it's yours anyway, you let me borrow it a couple years back," I explained, watching as he looked at the t-shirt with his eyebrows pushed together. He was still drying his hair, towel in one hand, awkwardly stood in the hall.

There were boxes everywhere in the house even though we had been there for a year, most of our stuff still waiting to be unpacked that wasn't essential. My parents weren't home much of the time, both working full time and usually extra hours, which was good for sneaking out or skipping school but wasn't good for much else.

"I like it here." Steve said out of nowhere, looking around the place at all the haphazardly hung picture frames and only half painted walls.

"It's a mess," I dismissed, trying to move a couple boxes as if that would make it better.

"Yeah, sure, but I like it," he said again, "I like it a lot." He was grinning, nodding to himself and stepping further into the house towards the living room. He threw the towel over his shoulder and picked up a book, looking at the cover and then placing it back down again, turning to the collection of plants we had. He looked so out of place, I realised, like he'd never been anywhere like it before. He had always grown up in a house built for a 'jock', I supposed. Somewhere for someone popular and important, an athlete, or in his father's case, a businessman. A house more curated for it's visitors to see than to actually function as a home. To place him in this world, full of discarded piles of envelopes and papers, with devils ivy growing up the side of the wall and a typewriter sitting in the middle of the dining table, felt surreal.

Without warning he pulled his wet shirt off over his head, leaving him with his back to me. I looked away quickly, trying to pull my mind out of the gutter as he pulled on the dry shirt. "thought I'd lost this," he hummed lightly, looking down at it and turning round.

I cleared my throat, "d- uh, do you want anything? Like, a bite to eat or coffee or something?" I asked, walking away towards the kitchen, hopping through the cluttered mess with my head down and a hand in my hair.

"Uh, yeah, I could drink coffee," he answered, following me over still looking at the walls with wide eyes, "you got cream?" He asked, pulling himself onto one of the stools. I nodded, and put on the pot quickly, still trying to face away from him and not meet his eyes. "I seriously love this place," he kept saying, "it makes so much sense".

"what d'you mean?" I asked him, chuckling.

"It's just, exactly like what I imagined it'd be like, y'know?" he struggled to get out, not exactly knowing where his words were taking him but gesturing around with his hands anyway.

"Okay, Harrington." I laughed, taking out two mugs and the French cafetière.

For a while we just sat around and drank our coffees, sort of mellow in the small talk and the lingering glances that we shared. Steve was still peering around, eventually getting up and looking through the record collection on the floor, "I don't even know what half this shit is," he mused to himself, flicking through the LP's and occasionally holding one up and reading the back. Eventually he held up a specific one, 'The Kink Kontroversy' 1965, turning it over and looking at the track List. I almost choked on my drink.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, Steve's head snapping towards me as I turned around, putting my coffee down, before running across the room and up the stairs. When I came back down I had a tape in my hand, beaming at him.

"What's that?" He asked, standing up.

I flung it at him and he caught it easily, reading the title on the side. "It's the mixtape!" I answered simply, jumping onto the counter with a smirk on my face.

His eyebrows furrowed, confused until he looked at me, and it dawned on him, remembering the conversation from two nights prior, eyes lighting up and grinning.

"Shit, where's the player?" He said frantically, looking around the room, pulling the tape out of it's case. I pointed to his left at the stereo and he bent down, messing with the buttons until the cassette deck popped open and he pushed the tape inside, A-side up, rewinding it to the start and pressing play.

The three opening chords cut the air, deafeningly loud through the speaker system. 'Till the end of the day', it was a pretty well known song for it's day, not even a rare find, but despite all that, it was still the song that he had been trying to remember for well over a year now and it was perfect. The look on his face was better than anything I had ever seen, pure joy, with his face scrunched up and his hair all over the place, head flying around, jumping up and smiling at me, singing along out of key. I laughed at him. He had his stupid sunglasses on again, thinking he looked cool as shit, and honestly he did, dancing like he was some kind of 50's teddy-boy, gone wild in an underground jazz club in New York City. As our forefathers would say, he looked like 'rock and roll, baby'.

We had listened to it three times in total now, falling back into the same trap as before where all he had wanted to do was listen to it again and again. It had pissed off Carol and Tommy so much that she had even started to kick the backs of our seats, but we had just leaned forwards, full of energy, Steve drumming on the steering wheel and starting the tape again.

That road trip to Chicago had only really been good because of Steve. We had skipped school, claiming to be sick, and headed up on a whim near the end of term. He had stollen his dad's car that day in a fit of teenage rage and had been grounded for six months when he had gotten home. Not that it mattered really, because his parents were never in town to enforce it, but it had still been pretty tough on him, his dad never forgetting it. Still, I could never remember seeing him look so happy as he did on that trip. Sun beating down on him, making the gold really stand out in his hair, running around the city like mad cats for a couple of hours, Tommy and Carol staggering behind. We had felt free that day, visiting all the sites. It was like pretending to be someone else for a day. Now, back in Hawkins in my living room, it almost felt the same. A momentary escape from everything that had changed. Away from the bullshit. Free as birds.

Steve had moved away, letting the next song play for a while before turning the volume down and falling back on the sofa. I leaned against the counter again, still feeling a buzz, but also feeling reality sinking back in.

"We should go back sometime," I said softly, "to Chicago, just us -" I smiled, reminiscing, "Tommy and Carol wouldn't be able to stop us from going to the museum like last time". He hummed in agreement, and laughed, taking his coffee from me as I handed it to him wordlessly, taking another drink.

His eyes had landed on the wall again, looking up at the baby photos and school pictures my parents had put up a couple of months back, after finding them in an envelope in the bottom of one of the boxes of books.

"I know this is kinda selfish, but I'm glad you were there," he said finally, watching my senior photo smiling out awkwardly at him, "even if it was pretty fucked up at times".

"Same," I answered, letting my mind wonder again. I let myself watch him wistfully for awhile, taking all of him in while he zoned out again, a slower song beginning to play. "How're you feeling?" I asked suddenly and he turned to me at my words.

"I don't know," he replied carefully, "I'm thinking I'll buy her some flowers or something, go over to say sorry-"

I interrupted him, "sorry for what?" He just shrugged, mumbling to himself.

"Yeah, I'm still sorta trying to figure that out".

The rest of the afternoon had been spent deciding on what grand gesture he would show as declaration of his love. The question of 'which flowers' taking up most of the time, with me sticking to the point of view that "roses are a classic, sure, but do you really really wanna be a cliche?"

"I mean, kinda yeah?" had been Steve's response, "if I'm trying to convince her to stay in love with me, roses are probably a pretty safe option".

I felt icky again, brushing off his words, "How many times do I have to say it? She was drunk".

"That still doesn't explain any of the other stuff," he sighed out, still feeling mad over the whole thing, "You know she told me doesn't even remember saying it," he started, "Like she drops that shit on me and then thought it was me who drove her home, actually got mad at me for it!" he complained, bouncing his leg.

"Why say sorry then?" I asked him, narrowing my eyes.

He threw his hands up, looking up at the ceiling, "because- this bullshit, this is my life!" He laughed darkly, "I thought that this was it," he stopped, swallowing, "I thought she was the one".

We sat in silence after that, Steve covering his face, taking in the weight of his own words while I turned around and tried not to dwell on them too much. The feeling in my stomach betraying me as always.

The rain hammering on the window had stoped a while back. He stood up awkwardly, putting his empty cup on the counter. "I should get back," he said, almost sadly, walking out of the door to grab his jacket and wet shirt from the hall.

When Steve came back he was fidgeting with his car keys, holding the damp clothes in his arm.

"I'm gonna get the roses," he announced, running a hand through his hair.

"okay," I replied. he nodded 'goodbye', turning around and walking to the door.

I heard it open as he stepped out, playing a tug of war in my mind over whether to follow him, to say one last thing. One side winning over the other in the defiant call of 'now or never', marching towards the door and swinging it open again as he meandered to his car, sullen and frowning, brow etched with his anguish.

"It's not fucking worth it, Steve!" I called over, probably louder than I should have. He was taken aback by my words, but then so was I.

"What?" He managed to get out after a while.

I shifted my weight, suddenly feeling awkward standing out in the cold on my driveway, "I'm just saying," I began, "you gave her fucking everything." he seemed to know what I meant but still didn't respond or react, forcing me to go on, explaining further, "I mean, I know you stopped hanging out with Tommy but, like, that's not really what I mean- you just," I paused, trying to collect the words together in the right order, "Nobodies even seen you for weeks, like, you disappeared off face of the planet and just worshipped her. Like, you fucking adored her!" his face fell at that, looking down and shaking his head awkwardly, "but, I just - she doesn't deserve your apology, Steve, she's the one that should be buying the roses, not you," I finished.

"How the fuck is that supposed to work?" He snapped, looking at me harshly. This wasn't my place, I should have known.

"You shouldn't be the one having to prove anything, you've already proved it all - everyone can see it, she's blind if she doesn't!"

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. He knew I was right but he wasn't going to admit it, not even to himself yet, he was just shooting the messenger at this point.

"What the hell do you even mean?" He bit, "I swear you're just fucking with my head. I know you never liked her, Y/n, but keep it to yourself, alright?" That hurt.

"I don't not like her! And anyway, its got nothing to do with what I think of her -"

He interrupted, "It's got everything to do with that!"

"Steve, seriously - it's not worth it! I'm not saying this as anything other than a friend," I pleaded, holding his gaze with my own long enough to show him I was sincere. This wasn't some high-school drama.

He looked away again, still looking hurt with his forehead all deep lines and creases, "I should go, Y/n," he said, "I gotta go."

He didn't say anything else, just dropped into the leather seat and drove off, looking back as he rounded the corner but only for a moment, only looking back once.

I cursed to myself, watching him leave, taking some part of me with him and tugging on the strings of my heart.

How had we wound up like this, so desperate and desolate, thinking our ways into misery and breaking our own hearts more than anybody else was? In that moment I felt like a little girl again, looking at him like he was an angel only to have her heart stomped on by a pair of muddy sneakers. Only the sneakers had turned into a BMW now, while the story had remained the same.