steve hasn’t brought a girl home with him since nancy. he isn’t sure if you even count, but he hopes so. he met you 48 hours ago, you were some cheerleader robin knew. a flier, apparently, not that steve really knew what that meant. you walked into scoops ahoy, hair just as perfectly styled as steve’s. robin tallied another mark on ‘you suck’ when she saw steve’s face. “in your dreams, dipshit.” she had teased before approaching you, catching you up on the russian code, the vent, the room it led into. you were eager to help, but steve made you a huge ice cream sunday anyway. you sat and chatted with dustin, sweeter than steve would’ve expected you to be to the middle schooler. everything after you had crawled into that vent was a blur of blood, drugs, russians, and monsters. when the dust settled, you and steve sat alone in the parking lot. “guess we should head home.” he said to you, helping you into his car. after he’d gotten you bandaged up enough for you to shower and get into bed, he sighed, brushing your hair behind your ear. saving each others lives had made the two of you comfortable with one another fast. he murmured soft apologies and kissed the top of your head. “you wanna stay in my room?” he asks softly