Rain pattered outside your bedroom window, creating a steady stream of white noise. You and Steve Harrington had moved in together months ago after things came to a head at his house. Apparently, Richard Harrington couldn't handle the social implication of having a gay son with no college degree. Hence Steve working a dead-end job at Family Video and renting a one bedroom apartment.

Then you moved in.

You'd been fooling around for a while, but he never expected things to get real. But here you were, under the covers pressed against his chest. Your hair tickled his throat as you rubbed your sleepy face against his shoulder.

"Are you even listening?" Steve teased softly, stopping mid-complaint about some bratty kid trying to rent a rated-R movie.

A hum vibrated in your throat. You were barely awake, lulled by the rain and Steve's voice. Steve smiled and moved his hands up to your ribs. His fingers made spider motions as he began tickling you.