steve harrington had gone to an actual, proper party, for the first time since he'd graduated high school.

he couldn't remember exactly what it was for, but he'd been invited.

and quickly realized that he was no longer fit for these activities. being a pseudo-mother for a small gang of high school freshman, embarrassingly, suit him far better. maybe this was his calling all along. maybe he would be a babysitter for the rest of his life, rather than his parentally planned future. he wasn't sure if the former was worse than the latter.

he was only twenty, for godsakes, he shouldn't be feeling this old.

but he did, he realized, thoughts rueful as his eyes fluttered open, only to snap closed again when he felt nausea and a throbbing headache assault him simultaneously. he had forgotten how bad hangovers were.

at least he was in his own bed and not sprawled across someone's couch, or worse, someone's floor.

and at least it was your shirtless form he was greeted (and promptly stunned) by, rather than some random girl he didn't know and would never care to know.

how did he live in high school? it was unimaginable, he realized, despite how much he longed to go back to his 'cool factor' he had then.

"morning," he murmured, flopping back onto his bed with a stifled groan- god, his head ached, and his stomach was turning. faint memories of lectures he'd given the party about how alcohol was a poison chided him, and he banished them with a swipe of his hand over his forehead, pausing to rub at his temples.