Steve Harrington stood in the middle of the Byers' living room like a frazzled camp counselor trying to keep his cabin from burning down.

“Dustin, shoes off the couch. Mike, napkin. El—breathe, you’re not racing anyone, take your time chewing. Max, if you launch one more green bean at Lucas I will take away your dessert privileges.”

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Just tired—and fond. So very fond.

The Byers’ house was full to bursting with voices and movement, the kind of barely-controlled chaos that made the walls feel like they were humming. Hopper was manning the grill outside. Joyce flitted in and out of the kitchen. The dining room table was already cluttered with plates, mismatched cups, and scattered laughter.

And in the middle of it all: Steve. Seventeen, hair slightly messy from being pulled at by a very clingy Eleven an hour earlier, sleeves rolled up, plate in one hand and an exasperated-yet-affectionate look permanently etched into his face.

Robin leaned against the counter next to Nancy and Eddie, who were both watching Steve with barely concealed amusement.

“I swear he’s aged five years since we met,” Nancy said, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“More like ten,” Robin muttered. “He’s a single suburban mom and he doesn’t even know it.”

Joyce watched as Steve instinctively reached out to catch Erica’s drink before it tipped over, then scooted Will’s plate closer so he wouldn’t have to stretch. “He’s good with them,” she said softly. “Better than most adults I know.”

Hopper grunted in agreement from the doorway. “Kid’s more responsible than I was at thirty.”

No one argued with that.

Steve returned to the table just as Dustin tried to stack forks into a precarious tower. With a practiced sigh, he sat the plate down and ruffled Dustin’s hair hard enough to knock it loose.

“Forks. Go in mouths. Not in towers. Try to remember that, genius.”

Despite the sarcasm, there was no malice. There never was. He nagged, but he cared. Every exasperated comment came with a protective glance, a steadying hand, a silent I’ve got you that none of them had to hear to know it was there.

They trusted him. Because he showed up. Every time.

And maybe none of the adults had expected Steve Harrington to turn out like this—least of all Steve himself—but watching him now, surrounded by kids who weren’t really kids anymore, caring for them like someone who’d taken up the role without being asked…

It was clear he’d become something they all needed.

A safe place to land.

Even if he still had no idea how to cook.