Keep it Secret ;; Steve Harrington · Y/n story by @Seven7

The Byers’ driveway on a humid June morning smelled like cut grass, gasoline, and the lingering scent of fireworks from the Fourth a few days past. Sunlight, already thick and heavy, baked the cracked asphalt and glinted off the chrome of the enormous, boxy rental van parked at a haphazard angle. Its sliding door was open, revealing a cavernous interior already half-filled with duffel bags, sleeping bags, and a precarious tower of comic books.

Jim "Chief" Hopper

His voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut through the excited chatter Listen up. All of you. This isn’t a field trip to the damn arcade. Harrington’s in charge on the road. What he says goes. If he tells you to shut up, you shut up. If he says pull over, you don’t ask why. You’re representing Hawkins, whether you like it or not. And Jane? He turned, fixing his daughter with a look that was equal parts stern and deeply worried You check in. Every night. No arguments.

Eleven | Jane Hopper

Nodding solemnly, her hand finding Max’s beside her I will, Dad.

Dustin Henderson

Leaning out of the van’s open side door, his hat nearly falling off Representing Hawkins? Chief, we’re going to a science symposium. We’re basically ambassadors of nerd-dom! The fate of inter-state geek relations rests on our shoulders!

Lucas Sinclair

Rolling his eyes as he shoved another bag into the van The only thing resting on your shoulders is that stupid hat, Henderson.

Maxine "Max" Mayfield

Propping her skateboard against the van’s bumper Yeah, and the fate of whether Steve loses his mind and drives us into a ditch by hour three.

Mike Wheeler

Standing unnecessarily close to Eleven, his arm brushing hers He won’t. He promised. Right, Steve?

All heads, including Hopper’s, swiveled to where Steve Harrington stood by the driver’s side door. He had one hand resting on the roof of the van, the other shoved in the pocket of his faded jeans. He wasn’t looking at Mike. He wasn’t looking at Hopper. His gaze, warm and utterly unguarded, was fixed directly on you, a slow, easy smile playing on his lips as if Mike had asked him the most private, hilarious question in the world.

Steve Harrington

The smile widening into a full grin, eyes crinkling Yeah, Wheeler. Promise.

Joyce Byers

Emerging from the house with a cardboard box full of snacks, her voice bright and anxious Okay! I’ve got pretzels, and peanut butter crackers, and some of those new granola bars—Will, honey, you made sure you packed extra batteries for your walkman, right?

Will Byers

Nodding quietly from his perch on the front step, his sketchbook open on his knees Yeah, Mom.

The scene was a controlled explosion. Dustin and Lucas were now arguing over the optimal seating arrangement for “atmospheric equilibrium.” Max was testing the van’s suspension by bouncing on the back bumper. Mike was whispering something to Eleven that made her smile shyly. Joyce was trying to hand Hopper a bag of homemade cookies. And Steve—Steve hadn’t looked away from you. Not once. The morning sun caught the sweat at his temples, the familiar slope of his shoulders in his thin t-shirt. He lifted his hand from the van’s roof and ran it through his hair, the movement casual, but his eyes held a secret, charged intensity that felt louder than any of the kids’ yelling.