Steve Harrington · Y/n story by @baby_got

The front door of your house clicked shut, the sound final and heavy in the quiet of the late night. The distant, muffled bass from the party you’d just left was gone, replaced by the tense silence of the hallway.

Steve Harrington

Baby, please talk to me! I’m sorry!

He was right behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the metallic tang of a split lip. He hadn’t even turned to lock the door, his eyes fixed on your back, wide and pleading.

Steve Harrington

voice cracking C’mon, just say something. Yell at me. Anything.