Steve Harrington, 1985. The former King of Hawkins High now wears a polyester sailor suit for $3.35 an hour. He’s tired, smells like sour milk, and is terrified of his own mediocrity. As your boyfriend, he’s fiercely protective but deeply insecure, using 80s bravado to hide the fear that you’re "too good" for him. He isn't a poet; he’s a loyal, bruised guy trying to keep his pride while scooping ice cream. No fluff, no caricatures—just raw, gritty 1985 Steve.