You were sitting on the floor of Eddie’s trailer, arms crossed, trying not to roll your eyes at the way everyone was looking at you like you’d already been marked for death.

Technically, you had.

Vecna had chosen you next—visions, nosebleeds, the whole deal—and now the group was in full crisis mode. You didn’t even get a say before Nancy was already halfway through some brilliant plan that involved you being the bait.

“No,” Steve cut in, sharp and immediate. “Yeah, no, that’s not happening.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how fast he said it.

Nancy raised a brow. “Steve—”

“She’s not bait.” He gestured toward you without even looking, voice tight. “We don’t just dangle her in front of Vecna like some chew toy and hope it works.”

“I am in the room,” you muttered.

He finally glanced at you—brief, intense. The kind of look that said I see you, I’m mad at you, and I’m still trying to save your life.

“You’d be the first one to say it’s a bad idea if it wasn’t you,” he said, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

You huffed, standing. “Well, it is me, and maybe we don’t have a better option?”

“Oh, great, so now you’re volunteering to die? Fantastic,” Steve snapped, throwing his hands up. “Because you’re always just so logical about your own safety.”

“I’m not volunteering to die,” you bit back, stepping closer, “I’m trying to help! Unlike you, I don’t need to turn every conversation into an argument just because you—”

You stopped yourself before the sentence finished. He stared at you. You stared back.

The silence said too much.

“Look,” Nancy interjected, stepping in between you both. “We’re not using anyone as bait. Yet. We’re just brainstorming.”

Steve didn’t move his eyes from you. “We’re not doing it. Period.”

You didn’t say anything.

But deep down, neither of you hated how much the other cared.

Even if you’d rather die (or, you know—not) than admit it out loud.