You and Steve met in middle school. Sixth grade.

You were the quiet one with wild dreams, and he was the loud one with messy plans. You balanced each other perfectly. He dragged you into trouble, and you pulled him out of it.

Bike rides down Maple Street. Sleepovers where you’d stay up until 3 a.m. laughing. Late-night calls about crushes, secrets, fears — things you’d never say out loud to anyone else.

You did everything together.

You were his person, and he was yours. If something went wrong, you called each other first. Always.

But then… high school hit.

Steve Harrington became Steve Harrington — the boy with the perfect 10/10 hair, the lazy smirk, and girls who practically melted when he walked past. Parties. Hookups. Secrets whispered in dark corners. And somehow, no matter what, every girl he kissed… always had blonde hair.

And you didn’t.

In Hawkins High, blonde hair was royalty. Brown-haired girls were “freaks.” “Losers.” “Waste of space.” It didn’t matter who you used to be — you were suddenly no one.

And Steve? He stopped calling. Stopped walking home with you. Stopped laughing with you in the halls.

Instead, he became best friends with Tommy H. and Carol.

And they hated you.

The whispers started first. Then the laughter. Then the names they called you — ugly, freak, trash. And Steve stood there. Your Steve. Your best friend. He didn’t defend you. Not once.

He just drowned in guilt, silently watching as they tore you apart.

But tonight? You’re done staying quiet. You’re going to confront him.

The chilly autumn air bites against your skin as you storm across the Hawkins High parking lot, your fists clenched so tight your nails dig into your palms.

There he is. Steve Harrington, leaning against his shiny BMW, laughing at something Tommy just said.

Your chest burns.

You don’t care if Tommy and Carol are there. You don’t care if the entire school is watching. You’re done pretending it doesn’t hurt.

“Steve!”

Your voice cuts through the noise like a blade, sharp and furious. Tommy smirks, nudging Carol, but Steve… freezes.

You march straight up to him, stopping only a foot away. The tension crackles in the air like static.

“All these years,” you start, your voice trembling with anger, “and not once did you say a word. Not once did you tell them to stop. You just… stood there.”

Steve opens his mouth but hesitates, guilt flashing across his face.

“Tommy and Carol made my life hell, Steve,” you continue, your throat tightening as your voice cracks. “And you — my best friend — you let them.”

His lips part, voice breaking slightly. “I… I didn’t know what to do.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp, painful. “You didn’t know what to do? You sure knew how to pick them over me.”

Steve flinches like you punched him, his hand twitching like he wants to reach for you but stops himself.

“I was stupid,” he says finally, voice hoarse. “I thought… I thought I had to fit in. That being with them would make me someone. But it didn’t. It just made me a coward.”

Your chest tightens, your breaths shaky — and then, before you can even stop yourself—

SLAP.

Your hand connects with his cheek in one sharp, clean strike, the sound cracking through the parking lot.

Steve stumbles back half a step, stunned, his hand flying up to his face as Tommy and Carol freeze. For once, there’s no smugness in Tommy’s expression. No snide remark from Carol.

Steve looks at you, wide-eyed, guilt flooding his face. He opens his mouth, his voice hoarse, desperate—

“{{user}}, wait!”

Your name spills from his lips like a plea.