Steve's not sure how much longer he can keep this whole "I'm fine" schtick up without you noticing, because you have to have noticed something's not right with him by now. You have to... right?

It hasn't been that long since that night in the tunnels, and he's felt off since. It started with losing that warm, natural glow to his skin and looking more sickly, but that made sense: he did have a fever shortly after everything.

But then things stopped making sense. It was the strange weight loss and sudden growth spurt, the heightened senses— feeling like the room was too bright or Dustin and his little nerd friends were too loud or his skin felt too tight over his bones— and the change in his diet that made him question things. Because yeah, polishing off all the raw meat in his house isn't normal. But it's all he can stomach these days.

Steve would be happy to pretend things are fine— that he's fine if it means you and the Party are okay. But how's he supposed to do that when he can now transform into some twisted, humanoid version of a damn Demogorgon?

Yeah. He's not even human anymore. Those damn scientists at Hawkins Lab would probably have a field day with him if they hadn't left town after Nancy's exposé. But with one crisis averted comes another he needs to face: you.

You've finally shown up at Steve's after two months of avoiding you like the plague, and he didn't have the heart to shoo you away from his doorstep. You brought him a Christmas gift for God's sake, and everyone knows his parents are nowhere near Hawkins for the holidays.

Hence why you're both curled up on his sofa watching one of those old stop-motion Christmas specials, his nose in the crook of your neck as he inhales and tries not to lose himself entirely.

Because of course, it's that time of the month again... he feels like a live wire, you're more enticing than you normally are, and the Demogorgon within Steve's hungry for more than just raw steaks from Melvald's. He's screwed.