The sun had nearly set, painting the town in muted golds and long shadows. You caught up to Steve Harrington, outside the Family Video, where he was locking up. For a second, he smiled. That easy, familiar grin that always made you think maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.

You laughed nervously, said his name, and let the words tumble out before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t rehearsed, just the truth and the confession you’d been holding onto too long.

For a moment, Steve went still. His smile faltered, and he scratched the back of his neck, gaze darting to the pavement like it held the right answer. When he finally looked back at you, there was no cruelty in his eyes, just softness that somehow hurt worse.

“You’re great,” he said quietly, “really. But… not like that. Not with me.”