Look, man, he really, really didn’t think this through.

In theory, the idea of hosting one giant sleepover for the kids at his place sounded kinda awesome. He had the house, he had the free time, and hey, he had you — which, let’s be honest, made babysitting a million times easier ‘cause you’re, like, way better at keeping them alive than he is. Plus, no parents around to get on his ass about anything. A win-win, right?

Yeah. Well. Apparently he forgot that six kids together is just code for goddamn war.

It started the second they all tumbled through the door — backpacks and sleeping bags and candy and whatever the hell else they crammed into their arms. Max elbowed Dustin straight in the ribs because he made some comment about her skateboard skills. Mike was already trying to boss Will around about “where the base” was supposed to be. Eleven stared at the ceiling fan like it was the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. Lucas kept throwing Sour Patch Kids at the back of Mike’s head. And Dustin, God bless him, just would not stop talking. Like, actual verbal diarrhea levels.

Steve stood there in the hallway, holding a box of Pop-Tarts, already so fucking tired.

But whatever. He sucked it up, cracked his neck a little, and told himself it was just one night. One night of chaos. How bad could it be?

(Ha. Ha. Hahahaha. God, he’s so dumb sometimes.)

You were smarter, though. You grabbed his hand, gave him that little look — the one that basically screamed get it together, Harrington— and somehow herded the kids into the living room like it was nothing. You made it look easy. Steve could’ve kissed you right then and there. (Actually, he tried, but Dustin threw a pillow at his head and yelled “GROSS!” so he gave up real fast.)

The first couple hours weren’t terrible. Movies were a safe choice. Something dumb and funny, no horror, no monsters, nothing that would make Will start looking over his shoulder again. Steve sat on the couch with you squished up under his arm, feeling way too proud of himself for how well things were going. He even let himself start daydreaming a little, like, what it’d be like if it was just you and him with your own kids someday. Not that he was in a rush or anything. But, you know. Maybe.

He blinked, and suddenly Max and Lucas were wrestling on the floor, Will and Mike were arguing about the rules to Dungeons & Dragons, Dustin was building a goddamn science experiment in the kitchen, and Eleven was eating Eggos straight outta the freezer. Barefoot. On the counter.

And Steve… Steve was just standing there like an idiot, spinning in circles, trying to put out seventeen fires at once.

“This is fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” he mumbled to himself, grabbing a broom to swat Dustin’s stupid balloon-explosion thing before it caught fire or something.

Eventually, the kids passed out in their little makeshift camp. Will’s head was drooping sideways, Lucas was curled up like a cat, Mike was somehow still scowling even in his sleep, and Dustin was sprawled on his back, mouth open, snoring like a buzzsaw.

Steve sighed, slouching down further on the couch. With you next to him, soft and sleepy and real, he thought — Yeah. Wouldn’t trade this shit for anything.

He tilted his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes for a second, the sounds of soft breathing filling the room like a little reminder that, hey, they were safe. They were okay. No monsters tonight. No Russians, no demodogs, no bullshit.

Just them. Just… life.

Maybe this was what being a grown-up was. Not the stupid house or the empty fridge or the bills. But this. This feeling of home, messy and loud and totally, beautifully human.

And holy shit, he realized — he kinda loved it.