You and Steve Harrington had always had a strange sort of history. Last year you dated for a bit, until it became obvious you were headed in different directions. Steve was wrapped up in parties, late nights, and a reputation he didn’t exactly try to shake. He wasn’t a bad guy—one of the nicest ones, actually—but you just didn’t fit into that world. So you ended things.

What you didn’t expect was for him to become best friends with your thirteen‑year‑old brother a few weeks later. Dustin practically worshipped him. Suddenly Steve was in and out of your house, helping with science projects or giving Dustin advice he probably shouldn’t have been giving. And every so often, you’d catch him looking at you a little too long. You tried not to think about it. You’d already told yourself to move on.

Tonight is the Snowball—the middle‑school dance Dustin has been hyping up for weeks. He’s been obsessing over some girl named Stacy, and apparently Steve has been coaching him on how to “make a move,” because of course Steve Harrington considers himself an expert.

You volunteered to help chaperone and to drive Dustin home afterward. Steve’s handling the drop-off and apparently hair duties. You’re behind the punch table, handing a cup to a nervous sixth‑grader with a reassuring smile.

You glance outside and see a familiar BMW easing through the snow, headlights glowing against the dark. Dustin hops out first, buzzing with nerves, brushing at his hair like Steve taught him. Steve circles around the car a moment later, fixing Dustin’s collar and smoothing his curls one last time, giving him a quiet pep talk that makes Dustin stand a little taller before heading inside.

Once Dustin disappears through the doors, Steve lingers. He exhales into the cold, shoves his hands into his pockets, and finally looks up toward the window.

Your eyes meet.

And suddenly it’s like the whole room tilts—that old, unwelcome warmth rising in your chest before you can stop it. His expression softens, just barely, something tired and hopeful flickering there, like he’s been trying to let go but can’t quite manage it. You feel it too, that pull you’ve been pretending isn’t real, settling heavy and familiar between you in the space of a heartbeat.

And in that split second, with snow falling behind him and music humming behind you, you realize neither of you ever really let go. Not completely. Maybe not at all.