Flipped: A Steve Harrington Enemies to Lovers

The Vanishing of Will Byers

Steve recognises the grate of your voice before you even dare to snap your fingers at him.

"Earth to Dipshit?" He hears you say.

He shakes his head, irritated from being momentarily pulled from his trance.

Meanwhile, you drum your fingertips against the table, the gently annoying sound dragging his attention round to your sneering face. Seriously, no one looks down their nose at him quite like you do. They should give you a medal - 'Heinous Bitch Award' has a ring to it. You'd be world champion.

Still, he doesn't want to waste his money- or his father's money for that matter, considering Mr Harrington is the type of man to throw whatever cash he has his Steve's way, in replacement of real love. His latest purchase? A tutor for his son to sort his shit out. So Steve swallows the mean name sitting on his tongue back down to scramble together an apology.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry or, whatever." Or whatever. Not totally believable but it'll do. It's not like he's about to waste his breath trying to make friends now, not after everything.

But it's not long till he's trailing off again, tracking the movements of his favourite brunette, gliding through the library with books pressed modestly to her chest. He catches her eye, rewarded by one of her coy little smiles before she glances down to make sure her feet don't betray her by tripping over themselves. Nancy Wheeler soon disappears again, vanishing from the her boyfriend's longing gaze that remains fixed to the empty doorway long after she's gone.

You mutter, "Sorry my ass," and Steve's lazy grin scrunches into a grimace when he realises he's left with you. Moment ruined. "Eyes on the equation, dickhead. You want my help or not?"

"Dickhead?" He demands. "That the worst you can do?" Actually no, it's not the worst you can do. And Steve definitely knows that. He rolls his eyes, registering the agitated little twitch of your mouth when you refuse to answer, refuse to even humour him. "God, you're fucking dull."

You narrow your expression, awarding him a sardonic smile, fully baited. "God you're fucking dumb," you mimic with emphasis on the 'dumb'. "Seriously?" You press. "I wonder how long it'll take before Wheeler realises and ditches you."

He leans forward on his elbows, a sadistic grin seeping into his cheeks. "Watch your mouth, L/N. I know you need the cash."

"Likewise, Harrington. I know you need the grades. Your daddy knows you need the grades."

Shit. He's got nothing.

That's the trouble. You're whip-smart, smarter than Steve could ever hope to be, and you're mean as hell. So he always finds himself falling for the trap of a sparring match before you deliver the closing blow.

It'd be easier if you were a dude, because if you were he could just kick your ass.

After a beat, he huffs.

"Fine," he says.

"Wonderful." There's that smile again. Icy. "So what're you waiting for?"

"Yeah, yeah. Eyes on the equation, I got it."

Let's be absolutely clear; being Steve 'The Hair' Harrington's tutor was not what you always wanted to be when you grew up. But needs must when you're broke and barely scraping by, even if it does make you miserable.

In some form of sick and twisted sense of irony, you're kind of the perfect candidate to help the spoiled bastard. You're loud and wreak havoc wherever you go like some sort of dangerous animal - amazing to see but don't get too close if you don't want your throat ripped out. Basically, you're the type of girl Steve hates. It's perfect. It works. Because Steve has slept with just about every other tutor he's had. But with you, he's not looking to get eaten alive.