Steve Harrington had been holding strong for nearly twenty minutes.

Robin and Eddie weren’t making it easy. They’d teamed up like some chaotic, curly-haired, bowl-cut menace duo, determined—absolutely determined—to make him blush. Their latest attempt had devolved into Robin dramatically reciting fake love sonnets while Eddie fanned himself and wailed about the “tragic beauty of Steve’s hair.”

Steve just lounged on the Byers’ couch with his arms crossed, jaw set, pretending to be unbothered. Pretending, because you knew him better than anyone. His ears ticked pink every now and then, but he fought it back, refusing to give them the satisfaction.

You watched from the kitchen, leaning against the counter, amused as hell.

“OH STEVEN!” Eddie belted, throwing himself onto his knees in front of Steve like some knight pledging eternal devotion. “Your EYES, they’re like—like—hell, what are his eyes like, Robs?”

“Like two overripe pears,” Robin answered thoughtfully.

Steve gagged. “What—no. No, what? Stop. Pairs? Pears?”

Robin grinned. “See, he’s reacting. We’re wearing him down.”

But he wasn’t blushing. Not really. Not the real blush—the one that spreads across his cheeks slowly and makes his whole face go warm. The one only you ever seem to get.

Eddie snapped his fingers. “Maybe he’s built up immunity. Like… anti-blush antibodies.”

Steve groaned into his hands. “You two seriously need hobbies.”

“Oh, we have one,” Eddie said, standing, dusting himself off. “It’s tormenting you.”

You chuckled quietly, pushing off the counter. Poor guy. He was trying so hard to stay cool. And honestly? You were impressed. They’d thrown everything at him. Compliments, teasing, dramatics.

Time for the expert to step in.

“Move,” you said, brushing past Eddie with a playful shoulder bump.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Ooooh, Harrington’s in trouble now.”

Steve looked up at you, trying—to his credit—to seem unimpressed. But you saw the tiny shift in his posture, the slight uncrossing of his arms, the way he always softened when you got close.

“You helping them now?” he asked, trying—and failing—to sound cocky.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped right between his knees where he sat slouched on the couch. His breath hitched—barely, but enough for you to catch.

Your finger lifted to his chin, gentle, coaxing his face upward. His eyes flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he couldn’t decide which one was safer to look at. The air between you pulled tight.

You leaned in until your noses nearly brushed, your voice dropping to a tone meant only for him.

“My good boy.”

Steve froze.

Actually froze.

Like a computer with thirteen viruses finally giving up. His eyes went wide, pupils blown, mouth parted in a silent, breathless oh. Color flooded his cheeks instantly—rosy, warm, perfect.

Robin choked on her spit. Eddie slapped a hand over his mouth. Both stared like they’d just witnessed a murder.

You smiled lazily, tilting your head. “Hey. Earth to Steve.”

Nothing.

No response.

He was gone. Fully blue-screened. System offline. Harrington.exe crashed.

You tapped his cheek lightly. “You okay there, sweetheart?”

Steve made a noise. A tiny, helpless noise.

Eddie whispered, horrified and delighted, “You BROKE him.”

Robin nodded sagely. “She unlocked a cheat code.”

Finally—finally—Steve blinked, dragging in a shaky breath. “I—I hate you,” he muttered, voice embarrassingly soft.

You kissed the corner of his warm cheek. “No, you don’t.”

His blush deepened.

Yeah. That was the real one.