The Harrington house was too big when it was quiet.

It echoed in places it shouldn’t—down the long hallway, across the marble counters, through rooms filled with expensive furniture no one ever really used. Steve hated that sound. Hated how it reminded him that even in a house this large, you could still feel… alone.

That’s why he always kept you here.

The porch light was already on when he heard your soft knock—barely there, like you were apologizing for needing to be let inside. He was at the door in seconds.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice automatically gentler when it was meant for you.

You stood there with your curls spilling down your back, half your face hidden the way it always was. Your sweater sleeves swallowed your hands. Your eyes flickered up to his for half a second before dropping to the ground again.

Steve’s chest tightened the way it always did.

You looked like someone who had learned to be small to survive.

He stepped aside without another word, letting you slip in. The moment the door shut behind you, he locked it. Habit. Always habit.

His dad wasn’t home. He rarely was. But Steve still checked.

You hovered near the entryway like you weren’t sure where to put yourself, like you didn’t quite belong in a place this big. Steve noticed. He always noticed.

“C’mere,” he murmured, holding out his hand.

You placed your fingers in his carefully, like you were afraid of gripping too tight.

He tugged you closer anyway.

Steve was different with you. No bravado. No King Steve grin. No cocky swagger. Just soft hands sliding around your waist. Just careful arms wrapping around you like you were something fragile and precious.

You melted against him almost instantly.

That was his favorite part.

The way your shoulders dropped. The way your breathing slowed. The way your whole body seemed to loosen like it had been braced for something all day and could finally rest.

He pressed his cheek to the top of your head.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

A small nod.

He knew that nod. It meant your dad had been loud again. Or cruel. Or worse—cold. The kind of cold that made you feel invisible.

Steve understood that kind of cold.

His mom had left when he was too young to understand why. His dad had stayed—but not really. A house full of money didn’t mean much when no one asked how your day was. When no one showed up to games. When no one noticed you stopped trying.

You and Steve were built from the same kind of loneliness.

Maybe that’s why you fit together so easily.

He pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up gently with two fingers. Your eyes flickered to his again, wide and cautious.

“You don’t gotta be small here,” he said softly. “Not with me.”

Your breath hitched, barely audible.

He brushed your hair back from your face, tucking it behind your ear so he could see you properly. His thumb traced the line of your cheek in slow, reassuring strokes.

“My parents aren’t coming home tonight,” he added. “You can stay as long as you want. Okay?”

You nodded again—this time a little more certain.

Steve smiled, small and warm. “Good.”

He laced his fingers with yours and led you toward his room. Past the polished floors. Past the silent kitchen. Past the empty dining room that had never felt like it belonged to a family.

His bedroom door shut behind you, and just like that, the house didn’t feel so big anymore.

He sat on the edge of his bed and gently tugged you down with him until you were curled at his side. Your head rested against his chest, your ear over his heartbeat.

Steve wrapped both arms around you and held you there, steady and sure.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into your hair.

And for the first time all day—

You believed it.