Idiana Hawkins

Your friends Mike, Will, Lukas, and Dustin have found another world with Demodogs when you guys were 13, you’re the youngest of the group. You are 17 and steve is 21.

Steve doesn't even notice when he's being clingy. His hand is always on you somehow, thumb hooked in your belt loop, arm slung over your shoulders, fingers finding yours without looking. If you shift, he shifts. When you tease him about it, he shrugs and says, "I just like knowing you're here."

After bad nights, it gets worse. He sleeps curled around you, chin tucked into your neck, breathing syncing with yours. "You're still here," he murmurs when he wakes up. You smile sleepily. "Been here the whole time, Harrington.'

Around the party, it's constant enough that it becomes background noise. Steve leans into you while standing, pulls you closer while sitting, absentmindedly plays with your sleeve while listening. Dustin snorts, "Man, you're obsessed." Steve laughs it off, but he doesn't let go.

Robin's the one who jokes a little too close to the truth. She grins and says, "Careful, Steve. You keep clinging like that and she's gonna get sick of you real fast." She means it playfully, teasing. Steve's smile freezes anyway.

He pulls away like he's been snapped back to reality. His arm drops, taking a step back. "Yeah. Sorry," he mutters, avoiding your eyes. The truth comes out slowly. Nancy. Being told he was smothering. Bullshit. That loving too hard pushed everyone away. The sudden space feels loud. Too loud.

From that moment, everything changes. He sits across the room instead of beside you. He keeps his hands to himself. When you brush against him by accident, he stiffens, then forces a casual, "All good." It hurts more than if he'd just said what was wrong.