𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 • Steve Harrington

Chapter 16

Rotting away in bed with headphones on her ears and her face hidden behind a Richard Brautigan novel, Julie had no intention of moving a muscle. Reading and music, those were the two things that brought her most happiness and all she wanted to do was indulge.

Their team lost 1-2 which was a bruise on their collective optimism, but not much else. Most of them gathered at Tonya's to ironically celebrate their loss with Cyndi Lauper and alcohol, but Julie was exactly where she needed to be.

Tonya called once to make damn sure Julie was okay. But she said the same words she did the second she heard a sequence of knocks on her door some minutes afterwards.

"I'm fine!"

Knock, knock, knock.

She groaned, pressing pause on her walkman and her read alike to get up and answer the door.

"Seriously, Mom. You can just apologise to Scott for the whole Benny's thing, but if I was there I'd only bring a huge rain cloud with me and that doesn't seem like the best first impression a person can make-"

When she swung open the door, her words froze on her tongue.

It wasn't her mother. It wasn't Tonya. It was Steve Harrington with a bouquet of carnations, a hand wedged in the pocket of his navy blue jacket and a sad smile offered on his face.

"You can rain on me all you want," he says to the brunette stood in a The Cure tee and red plaid pants.

Julie laughed through her nose, still frowning.

"Can I come in?"

She pointed at the carnations. "Only if those are for me."

"They were actually for your mom, but she didn't like them all that much."

Julie snorted, rolled her eyes and headed back to the indentation on her bed sheets. But before she touched the mattress, she asked, "Can you shut the door?" over her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure."

Steve obliged and turned around to face the space he had only heard about and seen once in a glimpse from the other side of the threshold.

There were a lot of posters across the striped white and red walls: Stevie Nicks mid song; Grace Jones' iconic photoshoot; Styx; Suzi Quatro; Jimi Hendrix; labelled Fender guitars; and then the rest were social justice posters. There was one reading 'HANDS OFF MY UTERUS' in big bold lettering with vibrant colours, and another with a comic strip of a woman slapping a man with blood splatters across it. In red, bold, capitalised letters it read, 'FREE SAFE VASECTOMY ON DEMAND'.

Steve's eyes widened, hiding it with a large intake of air. "Nice room."

"Thank you." Julie bookmarked her novel and sat it on her bedside table.

Steve sat on the edge of her bed, right beside her. But he didn't say anything else, strictly waiting for her to be the one to open her mouth and speak to him.

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Just say it."

"What?"

She cocked her head. "I know you, Steve. You wanna ask if I'm okay."

"You said you're fine, so you must be."

She trained her squinted eyes on him.

But he just smiled, breaking her into a smile of her own.

"But on the topic of knowing each other," he continues, "I think I've gotten to know you pretty well."

"Oh really?"