"Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?" You ask Steve as he stands on his porch with his hands on his hips, giving you a glare.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me, don't cream your pants."

You wore a short red skirt, a tank top, a black leather jacket, black tights, and Doc Marten boots with a cigarette hanging from your lip.

You let out a little giggle and lean up against your car. "There's a party tonight. Wanna come?" You asked.

He thinks for a moment. "Why should I?"