Flipped: A Steve Harrington Enemies to Lovers

The Body

You and Robin sprawl like two starfishes over her mom's living room floor, which has slowly deteriorated into some kind of battlefield for half-eaten snacks and discarded candy wrappers. Amidst the destruction, you've swaddled yourselves up in countless blankets and pillows, creating your own little secret fort like two kids at a slumber party.

The drawn curtains block out the moon and bathe you both in an even blacker shade of night, so the only light in the room is what streams from the TV, casting technicolour shapes across your faces as you stare mindlessly up.

Wrapped snugly in her duvet, Robin resembles a cocooned caterpillar with just her freckled face peeking out the end, so she's free to make goo-goo eyes at Jennifer Beals dancing in peace.

Except it would be in peace, but your ears prick to the sound of a sigh emanating from her general direction, which causes you to steal a glance at the manner she bats her wistful eyelashes at the woman onscreen.

"Get a room!" You tease, flicking a popcorn kernel her way.

"Shut up!"

"I will not!" You giggle. "If you stared any longer your eyes would've popped out your skull."

Mortified, she bursts from her blanket prison, violently launching a pillow at your head.

She protests with, "Remind me what you just said next time you're drooling over Tom Cruise or some other cookie-cutter pretty boy." Next, she narrows her eyes, albeit playfully, before ducking away from another rogue kernel.

But you only guffaw in mock horror.

"I do not go for pretty boys." You say.

"Denial is a river in Egypt, Y/N."

The movie, however, gets interrupted by Robin's mom advancing into the room, frazzled and scrambling for the TV remote; when she enters, the tawny lamp in the hall spills a bright beam into the dark glow of the living room, making you both squint your eyes at her ominously silhouetted shape.

"Mom, everything okay?" Robin asks, holding her hand above her brow. "What's going on?"

Her mom presses a button, urging you to watch.

"Girls, look." Her voice is a jangling wobble of urgency and she tips her head to the screen.

She gestures to an emergency newscast where two presenters, clothed in big coats, stand together beside what looks just like the black abyss of Lover's Lake. Behind them, a chaotic clamour of bodies cram curiously together, pushing and shoving one another.

"That is correct, Diane. You heard it here first on Hawkins Radio, the search for the missing Will Byers has come to an end."

You suck in a sudden breath upon hearing this, latching onto possibility of good news, but there's something about the dull drone of their voices, warning you not to celebrate too soon.

"Hawkins Police recovered the body this evening from Lover's Lake. Chief of Police, Jim Hopper was asked to make a statement about the situation, but refused to speak to our news crew."

Robin gasps. You're too stunned to react.

Then, it comes out your throat in a frayed crack, "How awful."

Robin covers her eyes with both hands.

"Horrible, horrible." She says.

Your mind rewinds back to a grainy image of the older Byers' face earlier today. The deep purple circles under his eyes told of restless nights worrying about his brother. You wonder what colour they will go next.