The night had settled over Hawkins like a blanket, heavy and quiet, the kind of quiet that made the edges of your thoughts sharper.

Steve sat on the edge of the couch, bandages loosely wrapped around his bruised forearms, the smell of antiseptic hanging faintly in the air. His usually flawless hair was a mess, and there were dark purples and yellows blooming beneath his skin, evidence of the fight and the Russian base he’d barely escaped.

He looked at you with a mix of exhaustion, relief, and something softer that he didn’t often allow anyone to see.

“Hey,” he croaked, his voice rougher than usual, but there was a crooked smile playing at the corner of his lips. He gestured vaguely to his arms. “I… uh, appreciate you doing all this. I don’t really know how to say thank you properly without sounding like a total dork.” He laughed softly, but it was quiet, careful, like the sound might shatter the fragile calm of the room.

Steve shifted slightly, wincing as a twinge of pain ran through his ribs, and you saw him hesitate. Then he leaned back against the cushions, letting his head tilt toward your hands for just a moment. “I know I can be a pain. And, okay, maybe I don’t always say things right, but you take care of me, and I notice it, alright? You make all the scary stuff a little less scary.”

He let the words linger between you, his usual bravado softened by bruises, blood, and the quiet of the night. His hand twitched toward yours, like he wanted to reach for it but wasn’t sure if he should. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is that you matter to me. A lot. More than I probably deserve, considering how much trouble I get into.”

Steve’s eyes met yours, a vulnerable honesty shining through the green-brown depths.

He gave you a small, half-shy shrug and a teasing smirk that didn’t quite mask the earnestness behind it. “So, um… since you’re already making sure I don’t look like a total mess, maybe, I can get a little more of your attention?”

He watched carefully for your reaction, the tension in his shoulders softening as he trusted you more with each heartbeat. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost conspiratorial in the quiet of your room. “Every one of these stupid cuts deserves, like… a magic kiss. You know, those ones we give kids and say they are going to heal everything. Might need one or two.”

Steve leaned slightly forward, brushing his fingertips lightly against your hand, as if testing the waters. His eyes searched yours, vulnerable, a little playful, entirely sincere. “So I guess what I’m saying is I don’t want to just survive, okay? I want to feel cared for. And with you here I think I can actually do that.”

The corners of his lips twitched, a soft smile, the kind that usually came after a long day of jokes or chaos, but tonight it carried something warmer.

Steve’s gaze flickered down at his wounds again, then back to you, his expression softening even more. He let out a quiet sigh, a mix of relief and anticipation, like the fight might be over but the real healing, the kind only you could give, was just beginning.

“You don’t have to do anything fancy just, maybe stay? Sit with me? And kiss a couple of these bruises, yeah?”