It happened back at the trailer park, while they were loading up supplies. Someone local… older than you, pretty, all confidence — had laughed at something stupid Steve said. Reflex took over. The smile. The charm. The easy line he doesn’t even think about anymore.

You saw it.

He felt it the second your voice went flat when you spoke next. Not angry. Worse. Distant.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That flirting didn’t mean anything. That he’d done it his whole life and it never cost him something real before.

But this time, it lingered.

The argument doesn’t explode. It simmers. It’s in the silence during the drive, the way you stare out the window instead of at him. It’s in the way you answer him with clipped little nods when he asks if you’re good.

He wants to say something. He doesn’t know how without making it worse.

By the time Nancy starts laying out the plan, Steve’s already on edge.

The Creel house isn’t a place you rush into. They go over it twice — entry points, exits, who’s taking photos, who’s on lookout. The goal is information, not confrontation. Steve listens, nods, commits it to memory.

He also clocks the way you don’t look at him once.

When Nancy pairs them up along with Dustin, it feels deliberate. Like she knows something’s off and thinks proximity will fix it.

Steve sighs.

Dustin picks up on this sigh “what’s with the sigh.”

“Nothing” Steve replies and Dustin glare.

“Fine I just don’t know why we’re all always put together.”