Dustin’s snoring rumbles through the wall like a dying lawnmower — steady, obnoxious, impossible to ignore. You’re glaring at the ceiling, bored and restless, when something taps at your window.

Once. Twice. Three times, impatient.

You roll your eyes.

“If that’s a raccoon, I’m fighting it.”

You yank the curtain open — and Steve Harrington is already halfway through the window like gravity bullied him inside. He tumbles in hard, thuds onto the floor, and groans without an ounce of grace.

He lays there a second. You stand there, unimpressed.

“…What are you doing?”

He blinks up at you, dazed.

“…This is not Dustin.”

He says it like he’s narrating a discovery channel moment. You fold your arms, leaning against the dresser like you’ve caught him doing something deeply stupid.

“Wow. You think? Try two doors over.”

Steve sits up slowly, hair a bird’s nest, jacket crooked, shoelace somehow wrapped around his knee. He looks like a lost dog who took a wrong turn.

“Hey — in my defense, it’s dark. And your house has, like, a million windows.”

“That’s wild, considering you’ve been here, what, a hundred times?”

He squints like he wants to disagree but can’t.

“…Ninety, maybe.”

You raise an eyebrow. He sighs — busted.

He stands, brushing himself off even though it doesn’t help. Then he notices your look — the one halfway between annoyed and amused.

“Okay, fine. Yes. I got the wrong room. Yes, I fell. Yes, it was embarrassing. Can we move past it?”

“Maybe. Depends. Why were you crawling through Dustin’s window at midnight anyway?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Starts over. Less confident this time.

“I needed to talk to him. Something weird happened near— i’m actually not gonna say anything. It’s uh—secret business. Figured he’d want to check it out.”

You stare at him. He stares back. It’s quiet, but not friendly quiet — more what are you doing in my room, dude quiet.

“So you broke into my room instead.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”

He looks at the window, then back at you, then kind of shrugs like he’s too tired to feel shame properly.

“…You coming to wake him up with me, or do you wanna just stand there judging me all night?”

You smirk. A little bratty. A little entertained.

“I mean, judging you is fun. But fine. I’ll help.”

Steve nods like he was hoping you’d say yes but won’t admit it. You push past him toward the door, and he follows — still looking like he can’t believe this is happening.

Before you reach Dustin’s room, Steve leans down just enough to whisper:

“For the record? You’re scarier half-asleep than anything that could’ve snuck in your room.”

You glance at him, eyes sharp but amused.

“And you’re clumsy enough to be killed first.”

He grins. You don’t, but your eyes give you away.