The front door creaked open just enough to let in a sliver of afternoon light—and Steve Harrington froze on the threshold.

He’d come over unannounced, still in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, ready to complain about a long shift and maybe steal a kiss in the kitchen. What he wasn’t ready for was the sound.

Giggles.

High, breathless, delighted giggles that didn’t belong to you.

Steve followed the noise down the hall, slow and quiet without meaning to be, until he reached the living room doorway.

And there you were.

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, hair falling loose around your face, your nephew propped between your legs on a soft blanket. You were leaning forward, eyes wide, making the most ridiculous face Steve had ever seen—cheeks puffed, lips wobbling, eyebrows dancing.

“Brrrrrp,” you whispered, then popped your lips.

The baby erupted into laughter.

A full-body, hiccupping squeal that made his arms flail and his feet kick against your stomach.

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest. “Oh, you think that’s funny?” you whispered conspiratorially. “You think I’m here for your entertainment?”

You leaned in close, nose inches from his, and crossed your eyes.

He shrieked.

Steve clamped a hand over his mouth.

He’d fought monsters from another dimension. He’d faced Russian soldiers. He’d taken baseball bats to things that should not exist.

None of that had prepared him for this.

You picked up the baby gently, lifting him so he sat upright in your lap. “Okay, okay,” you murmured, soft now, brushing a thumb over his chubby cheek. “We gotta give your lungs a break, huh?”

The baby grabbed at your hair with a gummy grin.

“Oh no,” you laughed quietly. “No pulling. Auntie likes her hair attached to her head.”

You pressed your forehead to his, nose to nose, and whispered, “You’re a menace, you know that?”

He answered by drooling on your nose.

You groaned. “That’s it. Betrayal.”

Steve finally breathed out, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping before he could stop it.

You looked up, startled. “Steve?”

He leaned against the doorframe, eyes warm, stunned, and way too soft for a guy who’d sworn he wasn’t ready for any of this.

“I—uh,” he said, blinking. “Hey.”

You smiled, a little sheepish. “You scared him?”

The baby turned toward Steve, studying him with solemn curiosity.

Steve lifted a hand in a slow wave. “Hey, little dude.”

The baby stared.

Then giggled again.

Steve’s heart did something physically alarming.

You watched him watch the baby, your smile turning fond. “He likes you.”

Steve stepped closer, crouching down carefully. “He’s got good taste.”

He glanced at you, really glanced, taking in the way you held the baby like it was second nature, the softness in your voice, the easy patience in every movement.

Quietly, like he was afraid to break the moment, he said, “I didn’t know you were this… good at this.”

You shrugged lightly. “He’s easy. He just wants attention and silly faces.”

Steve huffed. “Yeah. Same, actually.”

You laughed, and in the space between giggles and squeals and the soft hum of the house, Steve realized something very simple and very dangerous.

He could get used to this.