Surrender // Steve Harrington x Reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐗

"Get under the tarp." You tell Eddie, clambering quickly from the boat to rush over to the small window. A plastic rustle tells you he'd done as you'd asked, and you duck low so you weren't seen. A man around thirty in a dirty baseball cap and torn white vest hops out of a red truck, going up to the door of the main house and knocking a few times.

"Hey, Rick! You here, man? I'm lookin' to buy." You hear him shout though it's muffled from distance. 

"He says he's looking to 'buy' from Rick?" You whisper and hear a low sigh of relief. "It's probably just someone looking for drugs. Rick's a dealer." Eddie says back though your eyes never leave the man as he walks around the side of the dark house, looking for any signs of life. 

"God damn it." The man throws his hands up in defeat, stopping to look back at the house just once on the way back to his truck. Resigned to the fact there was no hope for him, he climbs back into his vehicle and pulls out onto the street, your intense stare not leaving it until the red lights of his retreat finally disappear.

"He's gone." You tell Eddie, who tosses the tarp from himself once more and resumes his prior position. You rejoin him in the boat with a heavy sigh, relief washing over you. 

His hands were knotted as he rested his elbows on his knees, eyes drifted off into the distance with a sadness and worry you had gotten used to seeing on his face. "You okay?" You ask quietly, since he had cared to ask you the same earlier.

"Yeah--" He runs a sweaty palm over his dejected expression. "... No. I don't-- Shit, I don't know. This whole thing is so fucked."

"I'm sorry." Barely above a whisper. He hears it though, and his shoulders loosen a fraction. You didn't know what else to say. How to put into words how desperately sorry you were. 

You reach into the bag and pull out the last bottle of beer, opening it and handing it out to him. It seemed to be his favored way of coping, and he offers an echo of a grateful smile as he takes it from you. He looked tired, exhausted to his core, but he seems to find some form of slight relaxation as the hours pass after that.

It was dark now and you kept looking over your shoulder, listening out for the familiar engine. For him. 

You were on round thirty-two of 'rock, paper, scissors' with Eddie and though you struggled at first to understand the game, you were on your eighteenth consecutive win. You throw paper. He throws rock. Then he throws a small tantrum in which he grumbles profanities under his breath and tosses his palms up in frustration. 

"Okay, I'm done with this game. It's stupid." He huffs and takes a long swig of his drink. "When's Harrington gettin' you?"

The prior smile of pride at your win on your lips drops at that into a small pout. Good question, Eddie. What time was he getting you? 

Fatigue was starting to set in and you wanted so badly to go home and curl up in bed, sleep off the day and the frustrations that came with it. Render yourself unconscious so you didn't have to think about much of anything anymore. 

"I don't know." You answer honestly, hugging your arms around yourself in the chill of the night. You weren't directly outside but the back of the boathouse was practically wide open. It was cold. 

Eddie nods. Then looks over you, eyes rolling in indignation at his own kind thoughts. He shifts to sit forward, peeling the leather and denim combo from his arms and awkwardly leaning closer to lay it over your midsection. 

He avoids your gaze as he does so, slipping back into his prior state and clearing his throat. You pull it over your torso finding warmth still stemming from the thick material. "Thanks." You say honestly and he waves a flippant hand in gesture that it was okay. He was just wearing a white t-shirt with black sleeves now, a drawing on the front that you couldn't make out until he sits back fully. "What's, uhh.. Hellfire Club?"