He was a jerk in high school, and you loathed him with all your might. The only time he had noticed you before was on prom night when your mother had insisted you wore a dress that was clinging to every right place. You hated that stupid cocky smirk. Then summer came along, graduation happened, and you found him working in ‘Scoops Ahoy,’

You despised him then, but the look he shot your way appeared softer this time around. Maybe it was the ridiculous uniform that made him present like a little lost puppy or how you noticed his eyes swimming with the ‘I definitely know who you are, but I'm not going to address it’ look. You had downright told him you knew him; the slight hint of pink in his cheeks had you pinned.

Your first kiss happened exactly one month after that, parked up outside your house after a late showing of ‘Back to the Future,’ the third date pocketed, and he had only done so much as kiss your cheek. You liked who Steve Harrington blossomed into; you liked him a lot. 

But even three months in, Steve never once touched you unless you made it clear it was okay. He never pressured or reprimanded. Neither did he break up with you as you had expected, having the knowledge burnt into your brain that he certainly got around.

Waking up before him was always your favorite part. You’d get to see him almost in this angelic aura. You loved his freckles and the moles you’d countless times traced. He’s perfect.

Right on queue, Steve shifted in his sleep beside you, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck and gripping you at the ribs just that little bit tighter. You placed a small kiss on the crown of his head, and he smiled, a lazy grin painting his charming features. 

”Good morning,” a gravelly mutter, wild bed-head mane sweeping along your chin when he angled his head up, to place attentive kisses just beneath your jaw.