Surrender // Steve Harrington x Reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

Gentle knocking draws you from the deepened slumber you'd eventually managed to slip off into. You were reluctant to part from it, fatigued to your very core and drained of energy in each of your cells. Your body craved sleep, it ached for the endless comfort that being unconscious offered.

But the irritating sound just kept on coming, the raps of knuckle against wood increasing in sound until the source of it became too impatient to continue. Or perhaps it was concern that fueled it, mind wandering and imagining your lifeless corpse frozen on the bed, a husk of what you were last night, bled out and drained of all life.

No such luck. 

The door to the bedroom pushes open just as your lids reluctantly do the same, blinking against the harsh light beaming into the room. You were glad to be the other side of the bed to it, shielded from the suns intensity as it sought you out in your heap in the corner.

You'd never seen it before, never felt the warm lick of it upon your skin until this morning. You thought it would be beautiful, but instead it was blinding and harsh on your retinas. 

Steve steps into the room, a tray propped up on one hand as the other closes the door behind him. He was wearing a deep green sweater with a dish towel draped lazily over his shoulder and pale grey sweatpants, no shoes or socks on his feet as he pads across the room to you. His hair fell in lazy tendrils around his face and he wore a slow smile on his lips that drops as he notices the empty bed in his pursuits of looking for you.

Then those eyes travel across the room, widening ever so slightly as they settle over your curled up form in the corner, watching carefully as you move to sit, wincing as you do so from the ache in your limbs. 

"Oh--- Good morning..." He greets you hesitantly, attempting to seem unfazed by your choice of location for sleep. He takes the tray into both hands now, steadying it as he lowers himself to sit cross-legged in front of you a few feet away.

You don't respond to him or the slow smile that creeps up his lips, politeness more than anything else, an attempt to make you feel more at ease in his presence. It didn't work. 

He sets the silver tray down in front of himself on the carpet and pushes it across to you, nodding down at it in a silent declaration that it was okay to take. On the tray were various food items, or so you think - you hadn't seen them before, but they smelled incredible as their odor floats up into your nostrils.

A glass of water was beside the dishes on the tray - something you did recognise. "Figured you might be hungry and, well-- if you're not, you should probably eat anyway 'cause you need to get your strength back and-"

"Thank you," You cut off his incessant rambling once more, glad to have noted by now that it worked like a charm when you did so. Like it made him self aware of his word-vomit and enticed him to keep it to a minimum. "What is it?" 

You pick up the glass of water first, taking a long sip and savoring in the way the icy cold of it coats the inside of your mouth and then your throat. 

"It's a croissant. And, uh, some fresh fruit. I wasn't sure what you'd like but I figure everyone likes pastries, right?" He shrugs his shoulders, laughing a moment though his brows knit after in his internal realisation. "But I guess not you since you, you know, didn't even know what the hell it was."

Your stomach was already growling in response to the scent of the food as you set the glass down, wanting to ravish it and devour every bite, but you hold back. What if, somehow, he'd found out who you really were while you slept and laced the thing with poison?

What if the water was laced with poison?

You look at the glass, glaring at the possibility of it before you come to a realisation of your own - There was no way this boy was clever enough for that kind of thing. He was just being nice. How disgusting of him to be so kind all the time.