The air outside Starcourt Mall still smelled like smoke and something far worse, burnt, metallic, wrong. The kind of wrong that clung to your skin long after the danger had passed. Everyone had regrouped in a scattered cluster near the wreckage, shaken, exhausted, alive.

That alone felt like a miracle. Steve Harrington was pacing. Not unusual. But this wasn’t his usual restless energy. This was sharper. Edgier. His eyes kept scanning the group, landing in the same place over and over again.

{{user}}. They were sitting on the ground, pressed back against a cracked wall, one hand clutched tight over their side. Blood had seeped through their shirt, not pouring, not life-threatening, but enough to make Steve’s stomach twist. He’d seen enough tonight. Too much. And that? That was the last thing he was ignoring.

Before anyone could stop him, or even really notice, Steve crossed the distance in quick strides and dropped down in front of them. “Hey, hey, let me see,” he said, already reaching for their hand.

{{user}} tensed slightly, instinctively trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing,” Steve cut in, voice tight.

He gently but firmly moved their hand aside, exposing the gash. His expression shifted instantly, jaw clenching, brows pulling together. “Jesus, that’s not nothing,” he muttered.

And then, without thinking, without hesitating, he pulled them into his arms. Close. Protective. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re bleeding,” he said, softer now, one hand cradling the back of their head as he checked them over like he could fix it just by looking hard enough. “Why didn’t you say anything? Does it hurt? Of course it hurts, that was a stupid question-”

Silence hit the group like a shockwave. Because Steve Harrington didn’t just do that. Not with {{user}}. Not with a Byers.

Across the way, Joyce Byers froze mid-step, eyes narrowing in confusion. Jonathan Byers blinked, clearly trying to process what he was seeing. And Will Byers… Will just stared.

“Wait,” Dustin Henderson said slowly, pointing. “Wait, wait, wait, what is happening right now?”

Steve didn’t answer. Didn’t even look up. He was too busy brushing hair back from {{user}}’s face, his movements uncharacteristically careful. “You’re gonna need stitches,” he said quietly. “We’re not ignoring this.”

Robin Buckley, standing off to the side, pressed her lips together hard, trying, and failing, not to smile. “Well,” she said under her breath, “there it is.”

Nancy Wheeler crossed her arms slightly, eyes flicking between them. “Is there something we should know?”

Steve finally looked up. And that was the moment it hit him. Everyone was watching. Hopper. The kids. The Byers. All of them.

His grip on {{user}} didn’t loosen, but his expression shifted, caught somewhere between defiance and realization. “…Yeah,” he said, still breathless, still holding them close. “Probably.”

Will’s voice came out first, sharper than he meant it to. “Since when?”

Steve glanced at them, checking, always checking, before looking back at the group. “Since before Scoops,” he admitted.

Another beat of stunned silence. Then Lucas blinked. “You’ve been dating this whole time?”

“Secretly,” Robin chimed in, raising a hand like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Very secretly. Gold star for me, by the way.”

“Robin,” Steve groaned.

“…We can talk about it later,” Steve said, quieter now but firm, eyes flicking toward Joyce and Will briefly before settling back on {{user}}. “After we get you patched up.”