February 16, 1985
The gymnasium buzzed with activity, the low hum of conversation and shuffling footsteps blending with the occasional burst of laughter or applause from one of the presentations. Booths stretched out in neat rows, each manned by representatives eager to lure prospective students and parents with colorful banners and promises of a brighter future.
Steve trailed a few paces behind Dove, his arms loaded with brochures and flyers. His hands were starting to cramp from clutching the stack, but he didn't complain—not when Dove looked so animated. She moved from booth to booth with an energy that felt contagious, her practiced smile and easy demeanor making every conversation seem effortless.
Steve couldn't help but watch her. The way her eyes lit up when a recruiter said something that genuinely interested her, the way she tilted her head when she asked thoughtful questions, the way her confidence made the room seem smaller—it all left him a little awestruck.
"Here," Dove said, spinning around suddenly with another flyer in her hand, completely unaware of the effect she had on him. "This one looks interesting. You should check it out." She glanced over the paper, then handed it to him, already scanning the next booth.
"Uh-huh," Steve said absently, tucking the flyer back into the pile without looking at it. He wasn't really focused on the future the way she was. He never had been. It wasn't that he didn't care—he just didn't know what he wanted, and the sheer weight of options only made him feel more adrift. But Dove? She made the future feel like an adventure, not something to be afraid of.
As they approached another booth, a representative from a state college greeted Dove warmly, and she launched into her usual questions with enthusiasm. Steve shifted the stack of papers in his arms and leaned against the edge of the booth, glancing at the glossy photos of campus life without really seeing them.
She'd been like this for months now—helping him with his college applications, asking about his plans, talking about what the next few years could look like. She wasn't just think about her future; she was thinking about his too. It was endearing, but also overwhelming. Steve wasn't sure he had her focus or drive. Right now, he was just trying to keep up.
"You're gonna want to hold onto this one," Dove said, snapping him out of his thoughts as she slipped a new pamphlet into his stack. "It's got information on their entrepreneurship program. You said you were kind of interested in that, right?"
Steve shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
Dove frowned slightly, stepping closer and tilting her head to catch his gaze. "Steve."
Her tone was gentle but firm, and it made him smile despite himself. "I'm paying attention, I swear," he said, shifting the papers between his hands.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press the issue. Instead, she turned back toward the next booth adorned with a large banner that read 'Starcourt Mall: Shaping the Future of Hawkins!' The representative, a well-dressed man in his late thirties, greeted her with an overly polished smile and extended his hand. She shook it firmly, her easygoing demeanor firmly in place.
"Dove?" the man asked, glancing down at her nametag. "Dove Henderson?" For a brief moment, Steve caught the flicker of something in Dove's expression—a flash of wariness, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
Dove tilted her head slightly, her smile polite but guarded. "That's me," she replied smoothly. "Why? Should I be worried?"
The man chuckled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Not at all. Quite the opposite, actually. I was told to keep an eye out for you. Someone wants to make sure you apply for our summer law internship."
Steve, leaning casually just a step behind her, felt his shoulders tense. He straightened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the man. "And who is that someone?" Steve asked, his voice light but edged with suspicion.
The representative's smile widened as he met Steve's gaze. "Just someone who recognizes talent when they see it," he replied smoothly before turning his attention back to Dove. He held out a glossy pamphlet, its cover adorned with the Starcourt Mall logo in bold, shiny lettering. "It's a competitive program, but from what I've been told, you're already at the top of the list. If you're interested, of course."
Dove hesitated for a fraction of a second before reaching out to take the pamphlet. Her fingers brushed the edge of the paper, and she offered a polite smile, her expression carefully neutral. "I'll be sure to take a look." she said, her tone measured.
"Excellent," the man said, his polished grin unwavering. "We'd love to have you on board. I will personally ensure your application gets the attention it deserves."
As they walked away from the booth, Steve couldn't help but glance at Dove, her expression carefully composed but her grip on the pamphlet just a little too tight. He knew her well enough by now to recognize when something was bothering her.
Before he could bring it up, Dove broke the silence. "How are you feeling about all this?" she asked, her voice calm but deliberate. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her attempt to redirect the conversation almost too obvious. "I know you've been stressed about your applications."
Steve shrugged, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets. "Whatever happens, happens," he said, his tone casual but with a hint of resignation. "I'll probably just end up working for my dad anyway."
Dove looked up at him sharply, her eyes narrowing as if she could see straight through him. "Come on," she said after a moment, her voice firmer than usual. "Let's get out of here."
Steve raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What? Don't you have more recruiters to charm?"
Dove shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips as she looped her arm through his and started toward the exit. "Nope. I think we've done enough adulting for the day. Let's go get some milkshakes. My treat."
March 11, 1985
Dove's bed was covered in notebooks, loose-leaf papers, and a calculator that looked like it had been through a war. Steve lay sprawled across the bed, his head tipped back dramatically as Dove explained the intricacies of yet another math problem.
"Okay, so if you just isolate x—" Dove began, but Steve groaned, cutting her off.
"Can we do something else?" he asked, his tone bordering on a plea. "I can not focus on math right now."
Dove paused, her pencil hovering over the paper. She gave him a skeptical look. "Fine. We can shift to history," she said, already standing up to retrieve his textbook from his bag.
"Wait—" Steve started, but it was too late. Dove was already unzipping the bag, her back turned to him.
Her movements stilled as she pulled out a small stack of envelopes. "Steve! These are your college letters! Why didn't you tell me they came?" She looked back at him, her eyes wide and hopeful, as if she were about to celebrate some big news.
Steve's stomach dropped. He sat up quickly, the relaxed posture he'd had moments ago gone. "It's—uh, it's no big deal, Dove." He stood up, crossing the room in a few quick strides, reaching for the letters. "Seriously." He tried to take them from her hands, his voice tense.
But Dove was too quick. She held the letters out of his reach with a playful grin, clearly unaware of the weight they carried. "No big deal? Come on, Steve! This is huge!" She glanced down at the envelopes, her eyes scanning the names of the schools.
Steve's jaw tightened as Dove's excitement only made his heart sink deeper. He reached out again, but Dove dodged, opening the first envelope before he could stop her.
Her smile faded instantly.
The air in the room grew heavier as her eyes scanned the page. Steve knew what she was reading before she said anything—the formal rejection letter, the carefully worded "we regret to inform you" glaring back at him like an accusation.
"Oh," Dove said softly, her voice barely audible. She looked up at him, her excitement replaced with something far gentler. "Steve.."
He couldn't meet her gaze, his jaw clenching as he ran a hand through his hair. "Told you it wasn't a big deal," he muttered, his tone laced with frustration. He reached for the stack again. "Just drop it, okay?"
But Dove wasn't one to back down so easily. She flipped open another envelope, scanning the contents, and when she looked up again, her eyes were filled with that same soft pity.
Steve's hand shot out, snatching the letters from Dove's grasp, his movements sharp and tense. "I've gotta go," he said abruptly, his voice tight. He turned toward the door, shoving the stack of envelopes into his bag.
"Steve, wait." Dove stepped forward, reaching out to stop him. Her voice softened, full of concern. "It's gonna be okay. This isn't the end of the world."
Steve froze for a second, his back still to her. Then, he let out a short laugh, one that didn't quite reach his eyes as he turned back to face her. "It's fine, Dove," he said with a forced smile, waving her off. "I'm fine. Really. Don't worry about it."
"Don't do that," Dove said softly, taking a step toward him. "You don't have to pretend that you don't care. Not with me."
Steve's smile only widened, bright but hollow, like a suit of armor. "Seriously," he said, stepping back toward the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Steve—"
"Tomorrow," he repeated firmly, cutting her off. Before she could respond, he slipped out of her room, the door clicking shut behind him.
April 29, 1985
Dove sat on the bleachers outside Hawkins High, the cool spring wind tugging at her hair as she waited for Steve. School had let out nearly half an hour ago, and though they had plans to hang out, Steve hadn't shown up yet. She glanced down at her watch, her foot tapping nervously against the metal step.
A figure appeared at the edge of the parking lot, and Dove's heart lifted when she saw Steve walking toward her, his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. His face was tight, the usual confident grin nowhere in sight.
"Hey," she called out, standing up as he reached the bottom of the bleachers. "I was starting to think you ditched me." She tried to keep her tone light, hoping to break through the tension hanging between them.
Steve forced a smile, though it barely touched his eyes. "Yeah, sorry. Got caught up with something."
Dove studied him for a moment, her own smile fading as she took in the tired lines around his eyes, the way he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. "You okay?"
"Yeah, totally," Steve said quickly, a little too quickly. He climbed the bleachers and sat next to her, the silence between them heavy and uncomfortable.
Dove glanced down at her hands, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her notebook. She didn't want to push him, but it was clear he wasn't fine. "You know.." she started slowly, "You don't have to pretend everything's okay. I get it, Steve. I know how uncertain you're feeling right now."
Steve shifted beside her, his jaw tightening as he stared straight ahead. "I told you, it's not a big deal, Dove."
Dove frowned. "It is a big deal. Why are you acting like it doesn't matter?"
"Maybe it doesn't." Steve's voice was clipped, his hands balled into fists in his lap. He stood abruptly, stepping down from the bleachers and turning his back to her.
Dove felt her chest tighten. "Steve.."
He turned around, his face hard. "What do you want me to say, Dove? That I'm pissed? That I feel like a total failure? I didn't get into college. What else is there to say?"
Dove stood up, stepping toward him, her voice soft but firm. "You're not a failure, Steve. You know that. There are other schools, other options—"
"No! There aren't!" Steve's voice cracked, his frustration spilling out. "It's over, Dove. This was it. This was my shot, and I blew it." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to hold it together, but the weight of it all was pressing down on him.
Dove reached for him, her hand brushing his arm. "It's not over, Steve. You don't have to figure it all out right now. You're going to be fine, I know you are."
"Yeah? How do you know that?" Steve asked, his eyes locking with hers, his voice thick with emotion. "You've got everything planned out. You're smart, you're going places. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing tomorrow."
"Steve, you—"
"Dove, I can't do this right now, okay?" Steve cut her off, his voice softer now, but the edge of frustration still there. He stepped away from her, shaking his head. "I just.. I need to be alone for a bit."
Dove felt the sting of his words like a physical blow, but she nodded, swallowing down the hurt rising in her chest. She didn't want to push him further, but it was hard to watch him shut her out. "Okay," she said quietly. "If that's what you need. But I'm here, Steve. Whenever you're ready."
He gave her a tight nod, his gaze dropping to the ground. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there on the bleachers, watching him disappear into the parking lot.
Dove stayed there for a while, the cold wind biting at her cheeks, but it wasn't the wind that left her feeling frozen inside.
May 5, 1985
Dove sat cross-legged on her bed, her history textbook open in front of her, though she hadn't turned a page in the last twenty minutes. Her eyes were fixed on the lines of text, but her mind was elsewhere, waiting for Steve to show up to hang out like they had planned. The house was quiet, the low hum of the evening filling the air. Her mom had been watching TV in the living room, a rerun of some old sitcom, the kind of background noise Dove had grown used to over the years. She absentmindedly flipped her pencil in her hand, a sense of restlessness settling in her chest.
Suddenly, the shrill ring of the phone broke the silence, echoing down the hallway from the living room. Dove glanced up, her heart skipping a beat.
"Dovey!" her mom's voice called out from the other room, her tone light. "It's Steve!"
Dove felt her chest tighten. She wasn't sure if it was relief or anxiety that washed over her, but either way, she pushed herself off the bed and padded down the hallway, her bare feet soft against the hardwood floor.
When she reached the living room, her mom was sitting on the couch, holding the receiver out toward her with a smile, her eyes twinkling with curiosity as Dove took the phone from her.
"Thanks, Mom," Dove said, forcing a small smile before turning her back and bringing the phone to her ear. "Hey, Steve," she said, trying to sound casual, though the uncertainty in her voice was hard to mask.
"Hey, Dove," Steve's voice came through the line, though it lacked its usual warmth. "Look, I.. I'm really sorry, but I can't make it tonight. Something's come up, and I—"
Dove's brow furrowed, her heart sinking a little. "Are you okay? What's going on?" She leaned against the wall, gripping the phone a little tighter.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Dove could hear Steve take a deep breath. "It's nothing big, I just.. I don't think I can hang out tonight."
"Steve," Dove said, her voice quieter now, concern creeping in. "I'm worried about you."
"Dove, I'm fine, okay?" Steve said, his tone sharper than before. "I just.. I don't want to talk about it right now."
Dove pressed her lips together, trying to push down the frustration that was bubbling up inside her. "I'm here, Steve. You can talk to me—"
"I said I'm fine," Steve interrupted, his voice hard. There was a pause, and then he let out a long breath. "Look, I just need a break tonight, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."
Before Dove could respond, the line clicked, and the steady hum of the dial tone filled her ear. She stared at the phone, her fingers still gripping it tightly, the empty sound in her ear matching the hollow feeling in her chest.
She slowly lowered the receiver and hung it back on the wall. Her mom was watching her from the couch, her face a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Everything okay?" her mom asked gently.
Dove forced a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah, Mom, everything's fine."
But as she turned and made her way back to her room, the knot of worry that had been forming in her chest for weeks now felt tighter than ever.
May 17, 1985
As Dove stepped into the drama room, she paused in the doorway, her eyes widening at the transformation. She was used to seeing it set up for the debate club, where tables were arranged in neat rows and a lectern stood front and center, but this—this was something else entirely.
The usual fluorescent lights were dimmed, replaced by flickering candles that lined the perimeter, casting soft, dancing shadows across the walls. Black fabric draped over the windows blocked out the remaining daylight, making it feel like she'd stepped into another world entirely. A large table sat in the center of the room, covered with a dark cloth and scattered with maps, miniatures, dice, and small hand-painted figurines that glowed in the candlelight.
Eddie stood at the head of the table, gesturing animatedly as he set the scene for the night's game. He was already fully in character, wearing his signature Hellfire Club shirt under a dramatic black cape. His grin stretched ear to ear as he unrolled a map onto the table.
"This is.. intense," Dove murmured, unable to hide her amazement. The room felt like it was filled with a kind of reverence, as if she'd entered a sacred space reserved for grand adventures and hidden quests.
Eddie looked up, his eyes lighting up when he saw her. "Princess! You made it!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "Welcome to the final frontier! The last hurrah! The one and only night where you, the mighty Dove Henderson, become a part of the Hellfire legacy."
Dove raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small smile as she stepped further into the room. "I feel like you've been rehearsing that."
"Only for weeks," Eddie said with a grin, gesturing for her to take a seat at the table. "Come, Princess Goldfinch, your destiny awaits."
"Princess Goldfinch?" Dove echoed, amused as she sat down. Ronnie, Dougie, and Jeff were already in their seats, looking like they were trying to suppress their grins.
Eddie slid a meticulously crafted character sheet across the table toward her, the name PrincessGoldfinch written in his messy scrawl at the top. "That's you," he said proudly. "A warrior of sharp wit, unshakable loyalty, and a moral compass that always points true north."
Dove studied the sheet, scanning the stats and backstory Eddie had clearly put a lot of effort into. "Alright, alright," she chuckled, trying to suppress the nervous excitement bubbling inside her. "What have you gotten me into?"
"A campaign filled with magic and mystery," Eddie said, leaning against his chair with a flourish. "But this is no ordinary campaign, Princess. This one is tailor-made. Just for you."
The others exchanged knowing glances, their expressions caught somewhere between amusement and anticipation. Ronnie, playing along, picked up her own character sheet. "Yeah, we're all supporting cast in this epic journey. But don't worry, we'll make you look good."
Dougie, already snacking on a bag of pretzels, leaned forward and gestured to his own sheet. "I'm playing a charming, albeit slightly dim-witted rogue. A real smooth-talker, but you can't always trust his instincts."
Jeff smirked, holding up his sheet. "I'm the wisecracking young wizard. Always loyal, always curious, always, you know, getting into trouble."
"And me," Ronnie added with a grin, "I'm the bard who knows the value of good timing and better friends."
Eddie's grin widened as he dramatically spread his arms toward the map in the center of the table. "And I, your humble Dungeon Master, have weaved a tale of trials, tribulations, and self-discovery. Prepare yourselves for a journey unlike any other. One where you'll have to decide what truly matters, who you really are, and what you're willing to fight for."
Dove couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "You're really going all out, aren't you?"
"For you? Always," Eddie replied, his tone teasing but genuine.
As the game began, Eddie's narration pulled them into the intricate world of the campaign. The setting was vivid, a sprawling kingdom plagued by darkness, with Princess Goldfinch as its beacon of hope. Dove found herself drawn in, her real-world worries fading as she focused on the journey ahead. The table buzzed with energy—Ronnie's bard cracking jokes in character and Jeff's wizard solving puzzles with ease.
But it was Dougie who was stealing the show as his character, an exaggerated, over-the-top rogue with a dazzling grin and hair that he seemed to adjust every few minutes. He took every opportunity to remind the others of his character's wealthy family, his incredible prowess in battle, and, of course, his magnificent looks, which he declared with a flourishing gesture that sent Dove into a fit of laughter.
Despite all his bravado, his character had a curious tendency to vanish at the most critical moments, conveniently reappearing after the danger had passed with an excuse about being 'strategic' or 'protecting the bigger picture.' It was both infuriating and hilariously on-brand, especially when Dougie added his signature flair by dramatically flipping his imaginary hair and adjusting an invisible collar, as if those actions alone could save the party.
As the group wrapped up a particularly grueling battle, their characters battered but victorious, Dougie leaned back in his chair with a dramatic flourish. His rogue, who had spent most of the fight either missing his targets or conveniently steering clear of the thick of the action, pretended to polish an imaginary dagger with exaggerated nonchalance.
Ronnie leaned back in her chair, smirking as she eyed Dougie across the table. "Hey, Rogue Extraordinaire," she drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "What exactly did they teach you in knight school? Because it sure wasn't how to fight."
Dougie, ever the performer, placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "Well, funny you should ask," he began, flashing a mock-serious look around the table. "I didn't actually get into knight school. So, I've just been winging it." He tossed Dove a dazzling grin, his voice light but with an unmistakable edge. "Totally works though, right?"
Dove's hand froze mid-reach for her dice. The grin on her face faltered as his words sank in. Her eyes darted around the table, scanning each player more deliberately than before. Ronnie, the fiercely loyal bard. Jeff, the clever and dependable wizard. Dougie, the self-absorbed rogue who always managed to disappear when it really mattered.
Her stomach twisted as she finally pieced it all together.
Eddie leaned forward, clearly ready to launch into his next round of narration, his enthusiasm as infectious as ever. "Alright, team, the final leg of our journey—"
"Stop," Dove interrupted, her voice sharp enough to cut through the room's chatter.
The dice Jeff was fiddling with clattered to the table as everyone turned to look at her. Eddie blinked, momentarily thrown off, his fingers hovering over his notes. "Something wrong, Princess?"
Dove's eyes didn't leave Dougie as she pushed her chair back slightly, sitting up straighter. "What's going on here?" she asked, her tone even but carrying an edge that made the question feel less like curiosity and more like a demand.
Dougie raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin faltering just slightly. "What do you mean, Goldfinch?"
"You know exactly what I mean." Dove's gaze swept over the table, lingering on Ronnie and Eddie before settling back on Dougie. "This isn't just some random campaign you threw together. What's with all the digs? The missing when it matters? And that knight school thing—" Her voice tightened. "Are you mocking Steve?"
Dougie opened his mouth, his hands raised in mock defense. "Hey, I'm just playing the character Eddie gave me," he said, his tone light but uneasy, as if he knew he'd already stepped on a landmine.
Dove's head snapped toward Eddie, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto his. Eddie froze, his usual confidence dimming under her sharp glare. The faintest hint of guilt flickered across his face.
Her voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. "Is that what this is?" she asked, her words slow and deliberate. "Some elaborate attempt to get me to break up with my boyfriend?"
The tension in the room grew palpable. Ronnie and Jeff exchanged uneasy glances, realizing they'd stumbled into something bigger than their usual game-night banter. Dougie shrank back slightly, clearly regretting his earlier quip.
Eddie leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck, his easygoing mask slipping. "Dove," he started carefully, "it's not like that. I mean, not exactly—"
"Not exactly?" Dove repeated, her voice sharp enough to make Eddie wince. "You made a whole campaign about it!" She gestured at the table, her frustration bubbling over. "This isn't just some subtle nudge, Eddie. This is—" She exhaled sharply, cutting herself off. "Why?"
Eddie hesitated, his usual quick wit failing him. "Because I care about you, alright?" he said finally, his voice softer now. "And I don't think Steve deserves you. You're.. you're something else, Dove. And I don't want you settling for someone who's pulling away the second things get tough."
Dove's expression wavered, caught between anger and something else—something more vulnerable. She pushed back her chair with enough force to make it scrape loudly against the floor and stood abruptly, her movements sharp as she began gathering her things.
"Dove, wait," Eddie said, rising to his feet. He stepped toward her cautiously, his hands slightly raised as if to show he meant no harm. "Just—just hear me out, okay?" Eddie took another tentative step forward, reaching out as if to place a hand on her arm. "Look, I didn't mean—"
"Don't touch me!" Dove yelled, her voice reverberating through the room as she yanked her arm back. The sheer force of her reaction made Eddie stumble slightly, his expression flickering with surprise and guilt.
The others froze, caught in the tension that thickened the air. Ronnie looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it, while Jeff avoided meeting anyone's eyes, clearly uncomfortable.
Dove turned toward the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. Without looking back, she stormed out, leaving the room in tense, stunned silence. Eddie's betrayal felt like a slap, his calculated manipulation cutting deeper than Dove wanted to admit. But more than the anger, there was something else. Something nagging at the edges of her thoughts, like a pebble in her shoe she couldn't ignore.
The thought hit her like a jolt, making her stop in the middle of the hallway. She let out a shaky breath, staring at the ground as the doubts Eddie's campaign had planted began to grow roots. Steve had been pulling away lately—avoiding real conversations, brushing off her concerns with a joke or a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. And she couldn't deny that part of her had started to wonder if they were both holding on to something that wasn't working anymore.
May 28, 1985
Dove sat cross-legged on the couch, the sound of the TV barely registering as she flipped aimlessly through channels. The house was unusually quiet, the hum of the air conditioner filling the silence her mom and Dustin had left behind. Her mom was driving Dustin to summer camp, and with the house to herself, Dove had been looking forward to an evening of solitude.
When a knock echoed through the house, Dove froze, her brow furrowing. She wasn't expecting anyone. Her mom wouldn't be back for hours. She glanced toward the door, setting the remote down on the coffee table as she stood up.
Padding toward the door, she peered through the peephole and immediately straightened. "Steve?" she muttered under her breath, confusion flickering across her face.
She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to expect, then opened the door. Steve stood on the porch, his posture tense and his expression unreadable. His hands were behind his back, and there was a nervous energy in the way he shifted slightly on his feet.
"Steve?" Dove asked, leaning against the doorframe, her voice betraying her surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice quiet, careful. His eyes flickered to hers briefly before darting away, like he was carrying something fragile and didn't know how to set it down.
Dove's stomach twisted. She glanced over her shoulder, then stepped outside, letting the door click softly shut behind her. "I need to talk to you, too."
Steve managed a small, uneasy smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He nodded, stepping back slightly to give her space. "Ladies first."
For a moment, Dove hesitated, her mind racing. She hadn't expected this—him, here, now. It had been weeks of him pulling away, and she had spent those weeks replaying every conversation, every moment, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Now, standing in front of him, her carefully rehearsed thoughts felt heavy on her tongue.
"Steve," she began, her voice trembling just enough to betray her nerves. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About.. everything."
He tilted his head slightly, his expression guarded, as if bracing himself.
"And I just.." Dove faltered, swallowing hard. She couldn't tell what she saw in his eyes—regret? Pain? Relief? Maybe all of it at once. "I think we need to take a step back."
Steve blinked, his brow furrowing as if he hadn't heard her right. "What?"
"We're in different places," Dove said carefully, rushing the words before she could stop herself. "You've been pulling away, and I.. I don't think this is working anymore. Not like this."
For a moment, Steve didn't respond, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words. Finally, he forced a small, strained smile. "That's.. yeah, that's what I was going to say too," he said, his voice tight, almost hollow.
Dove blinked, surprised by his response. For some reason, she'd expected resistance, an argument, something. But he seemed almost calm, and that unsettled her more than anything else.
"Guess we're on the same page." Steve said, the smile still plastered on his face, though it didn't reach his eyes.
Dove nodded, taking a small step back toward the door. "Take care of yourself, Steve."
"You too," he replied, his voice steady but distant.
Without another word, Dove turned and slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She leaned against it for a moment, her forehead pressing against the cool wood as she exhaled shakily. Her chest felt tight, but she willed herself to move, to step away.
Outside, Steve stood motionless, staring at the door for a few seconds as if hoping it might open again. When it didn't, his shoulders sagged, and his arms dropped to his sides. The bouquet in his hand, once neatly arranged, was now twisted and crumpled from his grip. The edges of the petals were bent, the stems slightly crushed, a reflection of the tightness in his chest.
He exhaled slowly, the breath shaky as he turned toward his car. Each step felt heavier than the last, the flowers swinging loosely at his side. By the time he reached the car, he hesitated, glancing back at Dove's house one more time before opening the door.
Sliding into the driver's seat, Steve placed the bouquet gently beside him, the flowers a tangible reminder of the apology he never got to give. His jaw tightened as he stared at them, the words he had rehearsed on the drive over now hollow and pointless. With a quick shake of his head, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life before he drove away in silence.