The Hawkins High hallway buzzed louder than usual — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, whispers bouncing off tile. Cristian was in the middle of it all like he’d planted himself there on purpose, flashing a grin at anyone who looked his way. He had a way of talking just a little too loud, laughing just a little too hard, always checking to see who was watching.

Especially you.

You don’t give him much. A polite nod at most before turning back to your friends, clearly uninterested. Cristian tried again anyway, stepping sideways into your path with some joke that didn’t quite land.

That’s when Steve Harrington rounded the corner, basketball tucked under his arm. He clocked the scene in half a second — Cristian’s performative charm, your unimpressed expression, the awkward pause hanging in the air.

Steve slowed, eyebrow lifting. He leaned casually against the lockers nearby, voice easy but edged with that familiar confidence.

“Man,” he said to Cristian, glancing between them, “you trying out for a show or something? Because you’re really committing to the bit.”

A couple nearby students snorted. Cristian’s grin faltered.

Steve looked at you next, offering a small, knowing smile — not possessive, not confrontational, just steady. Like he trusted you had it handled… but wasn’t above stepping in if needed.

The hallway waited to see what Cristian would do next.